


Flipping Tides

by Leticheecopae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Chucklevoodoos, Consensual Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Tentabulges, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/pseuds/Leticheecopae
Summary: Mindfang has seen her future. She will die at the hands of her once beloved, now nothing more than another power-hungry troll disguising his motives behind the teachings of the long-dead Signless and she will do so willingly. She does not, however, know why. That's the funny thing about the future; glimpses always leave more questions than answers. Even if she were to look now, she'd find only more questions.Highblood couldn't care less about what the future has in store. He has a job to do, an empress to serve, and lowbloods to keep in mind. Yet, recently he's been getting a gnawing feeling in his guts when the Condesce sends his subjugglators out to perform something wholly wicked with none of the holy; but that's just between him and the messiahs, right?





	1. Red Sky at Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this commission for two years. It has 11 chapters, over 40,000 words, and additional world building where there are gaps in the canon. I made a monetary system, figured out weather patterns, and had so much fun working on this. A large thanks to the commissioner for having me write for this lovely rarepair!
> 
> While I do believe I caught a good deal of the mistakes, along with my wonderful betas, if a mistake is found please feel free to let me know. Staring at this thing for over 2 years, I am sure there are things I missed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it and the commissioner enjoyed seeing it come to life.
> 
> Updates will happen once to twice a week as final edits are approved.

_5th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dim Season Equinox_  
I can’t do it anymore. He says that he’s trying to bring about change, but all he’s trying to do is flip everything around. He told me that when we overthrow the Condesce, when we paint her throne-room with her blood, that the lowbloods are going to give the highbloods a taste of their own medicine. Not for forever, just a few sweeps so they understand what the lowbloods had to go through.  
When I asked him what that meant for me, he just smiled. I think he meant it to be sweet, all I saw was insolence. 

_“Those who helped will be treated well. You should know that, doll.” Then the prick kissed my cheek and walked away. I don’t know what Summoner is thinking, but we’re no longer in the same boat at all. He’s become something worse than the Condesce. It’s one thing that she can’t see all the shit she’s causing, but he’s seen all of it, and instead of following the Signless he’s just going to play it all over again but with rust at the top and sea dwellers at the bottom. I may not like those finned-fucks, but this isn’t what I want. This isn’t anywhere close to what we started out to do. This is no longer a chance for cleansing, but a wave of culling, and there will be no great reward at the end for anyone._

_I used to think he was called Summoner because he was going to bring forth change. Bastard is just proving those highblooded ass-holes right: lowbloods have no place in power. The ideal is still shit. I know it is. There is only one lowblood that shouldn’t be in power: Summoner._

_I’d gut the shrimp myself, but even shrimp can be a problem in a hoard. I’ll just make him a martyr if I do it. I hate to say it, but I’m going to need some help. I can’t keep this guise of red up for much longer, hell I can’t even look at him black. He’s worse than anything Dualscar ever was. Guess it’s time this pirate went searching for a new ship._

Mindfang sets down her quill and closes the small journal. Opening the book she had butchered earlier, she slides the journal into the pocket of space that had been cut out with her dagger. It fits snuggly, and when she shuts the book, there is no hint that there is something inside. Even if someone were to open it and riffle through the first few pages, there would be no indicator, though there is little chance anyone would do that anyways. The old book of Alternian history isn’t something many would be interested in; at least not a version this old. But it has a nice cover, and that’s all she has to say if someone were to point it out.

Many of the books on her shelf are for decoration; first editions with their leather spines and gilded edges. Keeping them pristine on the ocean is a challenge, but one she takes on happily. She has read every one, after all.

“Aranea?” Her real name drifts through the window just as she shelves the book. It makes her skin crawl hearing it. She’s never liked him using her real name, even more so now.

A moment later and the window itself is open. Summoner pulls himself inside; wings pulled in tight so that they don’t catch on her window. 

“Hiiiiiiii flutter bug.” The term of endearment used to be funny to her. Now it’s almost sickening; especially now that she knows how much of a bug he really is.

She lets him kiss her cheek and somehow keeps from shuddering. He’s too warm. It’s like being touched by a sickness.

“What are you doing ship-side?” she asks as she feigns tidying up the shelves, brushing her fingers over the worn spines.

“Wanted to let you know about the next set of ships to hit,” he replies excitedly. From his hip, he pulls out a map. “Someone from the palace let slip that there’s a secret group heading out to resupply a fleet of seadwellers.” He puts down the map and opens it up. “From what we’ve found, the information is real.”

“And let me guess,” she replies as she walks around behind him. She wraps her arms around his waist, much like she used to, and wonders if her mechanical arm would be strong enough to crush him with a quick hug. “You want little ol’ me to play sea monster.”

His wings twitch against her in excitement.

“You’re the scariest thing in this sea,” he says as he turns and grins, “Would be a shame not to let you spread some fear.”

Mindfang provides a grin, knows how real it looks by how easy it comes, and forces her body quiet. She’s not the scariest thing in the ocean, the twisted bastard before her is. Even compared to Dualscar and the shit he pulled, Summoner’s disregard to his own morals is sickening. 

“When do I set sail?” 

“At dawn with the sun.” He points to a spot on the map. “We’ll keep them blind. But, until then…” He trails off and looks back at her with a lustful eye. 

“You’re going to go over just how I’m getting there, so I don’t find myself stuck on a sandbar.”

“Or you can take a look into that lovely little white ball of yours.” 

She takes a step back. “We talked about this, Rufioh.” She taps at where her sight eightfold had once been, now nothing more than scar tissue. “I can’t do that anymore. Even if I could, the future-”

“I know, I know. It’s more a burden. But I mean, even for this, wouldn’t-”

She gives him a glare with her good eye. “I may learn something, but I won’t learn it all. If I had, I’d have been able to see my eye and my arm. Looking into the future doesn’t tell you shit, just leaves you with more questions.” _’Like why are you going to kill me,’_ she thinks to herself.

“Alright, alright. I get it doll.” He sits down. “Now why don’t you take a seat and we’ll figure out where the wind needs to take you tomorrow.” The pat to his lap makes her want to remove his hand with her cutlass. 

“Alright, my red,” she replies as she sits in his lap. He envelopes her with a heat that she once considered comfort. Now it feels like flames. She closes her good eye against it. Even now she doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to die for this troll. It was one of the last things she had seen before she had lost her sight and vowed never to look forwards again — her, lying in blood-stained stand, his lance through her chest. Maybe, with her change of heart, it means he will find out at some point. 

_’More questions than answers,’_ she tells herself as she tries to get comfortable.

“Alright,” he says as he leans forward and takes her mind away from the future to focus on the present. He points down at the map. “Now. We just need to get you in position here.”

\----------------

_It was right for the Empress to entrust her newest ship to me. Just like she thought, those mother fuckers came running. They’re at our back now. They have no idea that we know where they are. We’ve got the sun on our side, and there is no wind we don’t control, and right now it is whistling a joyous tune for our victory. Those lowblooded fuckers think they can outsmart us. They don’t know what kind of power is up in our pans. We’ll see how they do with the voodoos on board. We’ll see ho_

“Highblood, they are going to make their move.” 

The Grand Highblood looks up from the small book he owns to keep his brain straight. In it are nothing but scrawls. No dates, no attachments. The last thing he’s going to do is leave behind something they can use as a trail. If any motherfucker manages to take it, they won’t get shit out of his ramblings. 

“W-we’re almost ready for you to release the voodoos, sire.” A thin cerulean blood stands in the door, eyes wide as they tremble in their pristine naval uniform. “The crew has been tied down like you asked and your crew is ready for the assault.”

The Grand Highblood gives a grin before he stands. Even with the extended size of the ship quarters, he has to stoop his head. Trolls of his size were never meant to go to sea, undeveloped gills or not.

“D-do you need anything else?” The cerulean’s eyes jump to the floor as the Grand Highblood passes by.

“Chain yourself.” His voice is a low rumble that causes fear if he doesn’t focus on stifling it. His voodoos run deep, and even his voice reflects them. “Unless you want to get in on the clubbing. You’re always welcome to have a few laughs.”

“Th-thank you sir, but I think I’ll leave this...joyous day to you and yours.” The deckhand gives a quick nod before skittering off to wherever the crew is tying itself down. The Grand Highblood keeps walking and feels the underlying thrum of his own crew’s excitement. Their clubs will taste blood today, and they will paint the deck in the warm colors of lowbloods.

He climbs up just below the main deck and waits. Already he can feel the lowbloods coming; their minds uneasy and filled with adrenaline. There are a few stronger minds as well onboard. It doesn't matter. The Grand Highblood has only ever had one mind that could best his, and it belongs to the queen bitch herself. 

Around him are his subjugglators. They range in size, weapons, and paint, but they are all ready to pull forth blood. A younger one sits near him, leg bouncing as he prepares for the s  
“Easy, mother fucker.” The Grand Highblood smiles as he feels the young one's voodoos chomp at the bit. He’ll rise through the ranks after this for sure. “What’s your name?”

“Rebver. Rebver Nicors.” His voice is gruffer than the Highblood had expected. 

“Well then, Rebver,” Highblood says with a grin as he leans forwards. “Knock knock.”

The young one jumps before looking up. Rebver has horns that go off in tight corkscrews on his skull, almost a foot in length, and if stretched out would probably be a good three feet long. His paint is messy, like he hasn’t found what he wants to do yet, and it makes the Highblood smirk to himself. Looks a bit like Highblood's had when he had first joined up; a smiley face that hadn’t quite learned what it should be up and smiling about yet.

“Who's there?” Rebver looks a bit worried but does a decent job hiding it. Highblood can’t blame him. His jokes are a killer in one way or another.

“Negros.”

“Negros who?”

“Solanum Negros just for you.” The Grand Highblood reaches into one of the many small pockets hidden on his person and pulls out a crumpled, but fresh, flower. He watches the eyes of the young troll widen at seeing the fresh plant. Dried and burned, the leaves produce a calming effect that had probably been used on Rebver while learning his voodoos, but the fresh flower has a very different effect. 

Highblood hands over the blossom before pulling out another. “Can never have too many,” he says with a wide grin before pushing the flower to his nose. It has a sweet, almost soapy smell that burns his nostrils and goes straight to his brain. The young one does the same, and the Highblood watches as tendrils of fierce, excited rage crossover Rebver’s features.

“Pass it on, motherfucker.” He watches Rebver take another deep sniff before passing the blossom on. “Make sure all your siblings get their blood boiling.”

If Rebver’s voodoos had been jumping before, now they are rioting just below his skin. Highblood grins to himself as he turns back to the ship’s hull. His own voodoos roil with the need to be released; to search out a few minds and twist them into nothing.

Outside the hull, there is a gentle buzz.

“Knock Knock, motherfuckers.”

They’re about to find out who's there. 

\-------

Mindfang feels her chest tighten. Something is wrong. Even near the back of the ship, she can feel something itching just outside her mind that does not bode well for them. Far off she can hear the sound of the blowtorch making their entrance, a gentle buzzing. 

“Pull them back,” she murmurs to her first mate, Moyrah. They are a young rust blood with horns that curve down and over the back of their skull, mimicking their gel plastered hair.

“What Captain?”

“I said to pull them ba-”

Screaming cuts her sentence away, and she watches the first mate hit the deck. Moyrah writhes, twists, and Mindfang feels the first touch of fear. It sinks into her and makes her breath catch.

“Subjugglators,” Mindfang gasps. Terror spirals into her as she does her best to block it out. “GET BACK!” she calls out to her crew both verbally and with her mind. Her order shoots out wildly. She hears people scream it to each other, a call of ‘Get Back’ going through her crew. Highbloods call it out as well, mocking them, and the voodoos increase. 

Mindfang stumbles forwards. She has to get the ship moving. They can’t stay here; they'll be destroyed. She can’t let the ship be taken. _’Oh god they’ll find the plans. They’ll know everything and—’_

“Get it together,” she snarls and forces her mind back on itself. Somehow it causes the fear to recede, though it sits over her like a blanket. She can face it like this, though. Gritting her teeth, Mindfang moves towards her controls. Even this deep in her ship the lowbloods are being affected. They are tearing out their hair, shrieking, pushing, and attacking one another. 

She trips over an olive that is screaming on the ground. A quick scan with her mind, which leaves her gasping in fear, tells her that there is nothing to do about her crew. Those still alive are being driven to madness. Hell, she’s close to it herself. Looping her mind back on itself is like watching the world through multiple screens, and it is like a new vision eightfold of one continuous moment.

_’There is no way to save the ship, I’m going down with it. Summoner will use it as an excuse to kill all he can, he’ll…’_

Mindfang stops and leans against the wall of her ship and listens to the screams. She had been letting the voodoos get the best of her again, but they had given her an idea. This is her chance. She can give a warning, plant the seeds to Summoner’s failure. All she needs is someone to tell. Still, saving as many as she can is pertinent. She isn’t about to let all these good trolls die. They’re still fighting for equality after all.

While the ship can run on just the wind that doesn’t mean she hasn’t added an upgrade or two. Built into it is a system that allows her to run it all with just a skeleton crew. She quickly keeps going towards the control room; finding more lowbloods laying on the ground, babbling in fear as she staggers along. One stares up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and drooling. His mind is gone.

She quickly gets her hands on the controls and starts putting in coordinates that will hopefully get them far enough away that someone will make it back to sanity. A quick entering of the information and the ship starts to warm up and get ready to move. 

Mindfang pulls her cutlass from her belt and heads to the hole. In a few moments, they’ll be pulling away from the enemy ship, and if she’s not on that ship, then there is no way she can safely get the message out. She’s not the only mindbender out there, though she is most likely the strongest.

She storms past her writhing shipmates to get to the second deck —the one protected from the sun— and lets some of the voodoos in. It wouldn’t be hard to think she has gone mad, even if it is partially a show. She throws those who get in her way to the side, sprints down the gangway, and sees the opening to the other ship. In the hole, a smaller subjugglator with spring-like horns stands. He is about to cut down another of her crew and add to the color splashed along the deck.

Rage swells to mix with her fear and Mindfang’s sword cuts through the air and into his arm. It falls to the side, the freshly severed tendons unable to hold up his club. She kicks him through the hole of the ship. He almost falls into the sea below, but something drags him inside. Already her boat is pulling away, the speed building up.

Mindfang gives a cry and hurls herself into the enemy’s hull, and hopes that what few subjugglators left on the deck of her ship are either voodoo-less or won’t be able to produce strong enough voodoos to suppress what is left of her crew. Behind her, she hears the engines come to full power, and the ship skims away. There is a slight grinding as the two hulls meet and it mixes horribly with the screaming.

Inside the enemy ship, it is carnage. A fourth of her crew has already fallen inside, the voodoos having sent them raving mad and initiating their fighting instincts. Some are still going; others lay limp and gutted. Mindfang curls back a lip at the death and looks for something her sword can bite into. 

A club comes into view. Mindfang barely registers to duck and roll, and she slides in blood. When she stands, she is painted in warm colors.

Before her, a behemoth grins. 

“So you’re the fin to the Summoner’s wings.” The voice runs through her like ice water. Pure, blinding fear filters into her bones as she slashes out with her blade. The subjugglator before her barely moves his club to block her swings. 

“I am no troll’s fin,” she bites out as her mind loops back around on itself. “And I want to clip his wings.” 

The subjugglator stands back a bit surprised before grinning.

“I know you, Spinneret.” He raises his club to her. “You’ll say anything to save your hide. And even if I did believe you, you killed a pale-sister of mine.” His club flies down. Mindfang barely dodges it. 

“And you helped me kill my black, though that salty fish had it coming.” She lashes out with her sword and catches his club. It pushes her back, but in blocking she finds a momentary reprieve to send her mind at him. 

_‘Put the club down, Highblood.’_

She sees wonder cover his face for a moment. His club twitches downwards in his hands, and she pushes it away, making it seem like a parry. 

“How did you…”

“Same way I got you to use your hands instead of a club on Dualscar.” She gives him a wink.

His eyes fall into a glare. The voodoos push out, and Mindfang loses her connection to the Highblood as he drowns her out. He swipes his club at her legs, and Mindfang’s boots barely clear it when she jumps.

“Damn it,” she growls as she pulls her mind back together.

 _‘Listen to me.’_ She makes a show of blocking his next attack with her metal arm, though with her command there is little force behind it.

“The Summoner no longer cares about equality,” she seethes. “Maybe once, but not anymore.”

“And I’m supposed to trust the bitch who got my Moirail hung?”

Mindfang finds herself a bit stunned. If Redglare had been his pale, they had kept it a damn good secret. 

“You got a Signless mark somewhere on your person too?”

Highblood gives a cry and swings at her. 

“You planted that!”

“Believe what you want,” she replies. _‘But right now, as much as I fucking hate it, we’re on the same side.’_

He makes another swipe at her.

 _‘Believe me.’_ The thought pushes into his mind as she spins to the side. The idea fights to catch, to force their way into his think-pan, but the voodoos won’t let her take hold. 

“Going to take more than that, Spinnerette.” He throws another blow that she is forced to parry, putting them into a struggle of strength, more so for her. “You might be able to get up into my mind, but you’re not planting any seeds. I’m not some simple-minded lowblood.”

She gives a strained smirk as she manages to push the club away. “Well, you’re half right. You’re not a lowblood.”

The Grand Highblood gives a ringing laugh just before their weapons come together. Using the angle, Mindfang manages to push the club to the side and takes the moment to reach out and tug the Highblood down by the cloth of his shirt. He gives little resistance, instead grinning as her metal arm does its best to keep his club from coming back up. She leans up to push her mouth to his ear.

“Twelve days from now he is planning a raid. Northern border of Tathuran. He wants to break out those in the mines.” She twists and shoves him. It does little with his size, but it does let her make a swipe at him which he doesn’t expect — the blade darts shallowly over his chest.

“You little-”

“Ah-ah,” she pants as she takes a few more steps back. She knows these ships. There will be escape boats nearby. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds.”

“I’ll bite more than that,” Highblood growls with a grin. 

Mindfang can’t stop the smile in her snarl as she darts away. A few other subjugglators try to take a swing at her, but the Highblood roars ‘she’s mine,’ and the men fall away. The Grand Highblood’s feet thud against the floor after her as she darts up the nearest stairs. Two levels and she’ll be under the sun deck. When she gets there, it is deserted. Now where-

“Knock knock.” Artificial pain spikes in the joint of her metal arm and into the place where it attaches to her shoulder, sending Mindfang stumbling. As quickly as she can, she turns and raises her cutlass with her good arm. The strength of the Highblood’s blow sends her backward; her spine hits hard against the tinted walls of the deck. 

“Really, knock knock jokes?” she pants. “I’d thought you’d have something more original.”

“And I thought you’d know the answer is ‘Who’s there’.” He strides over the deck as Mindfang pushes up against the wall. Her metal arm hangs half useless at her side while she uses her shoulders to search for the button that will slide one of the tinted panels to the side. 

Hghblood’s club comes down towards her bad side. As it does, fear pours through Mindfang, and she feels the need to freeze. Instead, she forces herself to sidestep, her mind loop holding just enough. The club hits the dark panel and shatters through the dark glass as if it were nothing. The loss of the wall forces him to stumble forwards, and the two of them find themselves nose to nose.

She has an escape. Now she just needs a distraction so she can slip out.

“Knock knock?” Mindfang asks as the Highblood’s paint-smeared face snarls at her. 

“Who’s there, bitch?”

“Biting,” she pants.

Highblood cocks an eyebrow. “Biting who?”

“Biting you.” Mindfang darts in for his mouth. The kiss is harsh, and her teeth slice through flesh and paint as she waits for the club to move. The voodoos stutter and swirl for a moment before she tries to pull back. To her surprise, his mouth follows her’s; his teeth fight to claim her lips. Like hell she’s letting him do that. She deepens the kiss and claims his lips with her own fangs.

The voodoos ebb and flow with each movement of their mouths as her good hand holds tight to her cutlass and one of his find her hip. It is large, cool, and when it squeezes with bruising power, it makes her gasp.

“And you said you didn’t like knock-knock jokes.” He lets out a chuckle. It is a rumble of horror that causes her toes to curl and makes her want to know what else that voice of his can do. The hand goes to slide down her thigh. To her left, she hears the club pull away from the hole with a tinkling of glass “Maybe I can teach you a few more. Maybe knock you around a bit before I tear off your sea legs.”

She brings up her good hand and pushes it against his cheek. His hand pushes back up her thigh and somewhat under her tunic. Mindfang leans in a little; her lips hover over his mouth.

“Maybe next time,” she murmurs before she shoves his face hard to the side. The movement catches him enough off guard that he stumbles. Mindfang spins to the hole in the wall and darts out just as his claws and voodoos skim over her. She practically falls into the life dingy, feels glass crunch under her boots, and does her best not to slip.

“Mindfang!” Her name is a roar of rage that sends shudders through her as she squints in the light of the sun. She finds the release button, slams her hand down on it, and feels her stomach lurch as it launches. Clinging to the side, she manages a glance up. The Highblood’s torso is halfway out of the hole, his body too broad to fit where her lithe one could.

 _‘Twelve days,’_ she mouths to him while her mind pushes the thought into his skull. She turns to her small deck, stumbles for the console, and hits the button for the sun cover. It does nothing to keep out the voodoos that race through her, but it does let her see where she is going.

 _‘Tathuran,’_ she adds as she aims toward the horizon.

Voodoos continue to trickle down her spine until she is too far for the Highblood to reach.

Despite the fear, they make her grin.


	2. Get Underway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if I managed to miss anything please feel free to let me know! Enjoy! I had a lot of fun figuring out how towns would work in areas like this.

_Little blue bitch has a miracle up in her skull. Been a long time since I saw anyone who could do something like that. First time a lower blooded motherfucker got a word edgewise in around my voodoos. Has some fangs on her too. Not even the paint can cover up the scars and I don’t want them too. I want more. That Mindfang got in my pan and in more ways than one. Enough that I’ll need to burn these motherfucking pages someday if I don’t want people calling up ideas of treason on my ass. Then again, she’s the treasonist if her information wasn’t a setup._

_Three perigees ago we picked up a group of lowbloods right where she said we would. Maybe she really isn’t the flyer’s fins anymore. Either that or she’s tryin to put me in a web like she did with Redglare. Get me all motherfucking up and hung. We’ll see. Got some information out of one of her crew, like where she likes to dock, before we put the motherfucker out of his misery. Looks like I need to go knocking on her door this time. ___

__The Grand Highblood picks up the small book and shoves it into the pocket of an unfamiliar vest. They’re almost to the dock where he knows that the Spinnerette Marquis can be found, and he’s ready. His paint and usual garb is missing, and instead, he wears the color of the enemy. Red._ _

__He could never pass as a lowblood, his blood too close to a sea dweller for that, but with some well-placed paint, he can at least look teal. Add in a few loose horns he had lying around his killing floor, and his own horns should be hard to recognize, at least at the base. Luckily for him, spiraling horns aren’t too rare. All he’s done is add a single point out to the side of each, and he’s a new troll._ _

__The ship he is in is somewhat fake. While it looks like something a single mid to lowblood would use, the base engines and sails are much higher quality. To be honest, he’d rather go by foot, all this water business making him uneasy. It’s one thing to be on a beach, but out in the middle of the blue mass of the ocean puts him just a little on edge. But hey, better to run where the lowbloods can’t follow than get culled or captured by them. He’s not going to be in friendly territory out here._ _

__“Are you sure you don’t want any backup, Highblood?”_ _

__Rebver is at the helm in the small boat. There are only two rooms to the tiny ship, and while Highblood finds himself cramped once again, Rebver’s size had been preferred over that of the others. Besides, after getting his arm almost lopped off, the Highblood figures it’s a good payback to take him out. Motherfucker’s pretty good with a boat at least._ _

__“Believe me, wriggler. If I need back-up, you’ll know by the angry horde tailing my ass.”_ _

__Rebver looks over his shoulder and looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth._ _

__“Besides,” Highblood adds as he leans back, horns scraping the ceiling. “Less likely to be found out if only one of us goes in. Less chance of bleedin’.”_ _

__“You know I’d gladly bleed for you, my most miraculous motherfucker.”_ _

__Highblood snorts. “You’re a good grub, Rebver.” There is the lightest touch of purple on the younger subjugglators earlobes. Highblood’s ears are taped and tucked under his hair, doing at least some to hide his color if he were to flush. Having the start of fins is harder to cover up, but hey, the two of them have the hair to cover it at least._ _

__“We’re here,” Rebver adds a short time later. Highblood comes over to look through the plate glass of the ship. It is highly tinted, the chemicals in the glass reacting to the intense sunlight, and allows them to see the port. Well, at least what can be seen through the mist coming off the waves. Multiple rickety halls are pushed up right against the water, the area too poor to have the tinted glass most ports use nowadays._ _

__“Well isn’t that a sore sight,” Rebver murmurs as he steers them up to the dock._ _

__“Guess it’s what makes sore eyes.” Highblood chuckles to himself a little._ _

__Rebver looks up at him with a slightly cocked eyebrow before he cracks a genuine smile._ _

__“Makes ‘em sore indeed.”_ _

__Rebver coasts into an empty spot on the pier before the engine cuts off. Above it, there is a faded 6 above the opening._ _

__“Alright, stay here,” Highblood murmurs as he goes about pulling a general cloak around him. It’s nothing special, something any lower blood would be seen wearing to protect against the sun, and it’ll help him be less conspicuous. Thin enough that the heat won’t be too much of a bother, but thick enough to keep the sun from coming through._ _

__“Do you at least want me to tie off the boat?” Rebver asks as Highblood finishes getting dressed._ _

__“I’ll do that shit. I want this boat to look emptier than a brained think-pan while I’m gone.”_ _

__Rebver nods before he plunks himself down in a chair, face a little downcast, though he tries to hide it._ _

__“Got some Negros in the pack over there,” Highblood says. “Get your buzz on while I’m gone. Promise you it ain’t like the barracks shit you get.”_ _

__“Thank you, Highblood,” he replies, face going a tad purple again._ _

__Highblood grins. “See ya ‘round.”_ _

__Rebver gives a small salute. “May the Messiah's be mirthful.”_ _

__“Or let my blood wet their club,” Highblood replies before he leaves through the cabin door. The sunlight makes his eyes water as he snatches up the slick boat tether and ties it tight to the dock. With a quick tug to test it, he disappears beneath the cloth that separates the docks from the sun._ _

__As he walks through the halls, the only sounds he hears are his heavy footfalls and the creak of old wood and rusting nails. He can’t fathom the last time this place was actually updated besides the patch jobs. Hell, the whole port seems like nothing but one big patch-job. Mostly it’s just cloth over all the windows, not light transitioning glass or panel coverings, like most ports. Mist floats through the holes that are spotted throughout the wood, both in the walls and in the floor, some of them the size of a palm, others the size of a skull. That makes the Highblood smirk a bit._ _

___‘Looks like this place has some rough and tumble trolls after all,’_ he muses as he looks at a rather large hole. There are still a few traces of olive around edges, some scraps of hair as well. Somebody sure as fuck got more than they were looking for._ _

__The deck’s corridor ends at a large, heavy cloth with a single troll in front of it. They are stripped down to just a pair of pants and a scrap of a vest on their upper body. Atop their head are two knotted horns that end in something akin to a mace; strands of dirty hair catch on some of the spikes. Highblood can’t blame them for their garb. With the mist sneaking in and covering the troll in a sheen of water, it’s going to get damn hot without any temperature regulators in the hall, not to mention how hard it will be without dehumidifiers._ _

__“One ceagar to tie up for the parigee. Coin only.” Their voice is dry and raspy._ _

__Highblood gives a nod, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small smattering of coins. He’s supposed to look somewhat wealthy, but not horribly, and he planned his pocket so. He has a smattering of one coin moots. Three moots make a sacagi, which he has a few of as well. Caegars, which are worth nine moot, are the most common coin in his pocket. He sees the troll eye the fifteen coin kinch piece he has, and he’s glad he didn’t pull out one of his 30 coin ranths as well. He didn’t dare put a surthen in his purse. Walking around with something worth ninety coin out here could get him in trouble. It may not seem like a lot to him, but to some of the urchins around, having even a handful on one’s person could make a troll an easy target. So could a coin card. Having one of those outside of a highblood city would get a troll jumped._ _

__Not that he’d be easy to take down, but the last thing he wants is to have to draw any more attention to himself. His height is already going to do that._ _

__He picks out a ceagar and drops it into the troll’s outspread palm. It stays extended._ _

__“Buy a sailor a drink?”_ _

__Highblood gives a snort but drops a sacagi in the troll’s palm as well. “Could do with one myself. Going to be hot as a centaur’s teet today.”_ _

__The troll nods to him with a slight smile. “Mistka’s has some of the best drink here,” the troll says as they sit up just enough to pull out a small book. “Sign your name and the pier you tied to.”_ _

__Highblood signs his false name, puts down the number he had seen on his pier, and hands the book back._ _

__“‘Tween you and me, you might want to spread those coins out,” the toll troll says as they take the book back. “Slew of pirates came in last couple of days, and things like to go missing, if you know what I mean.”_ _

__“I’ll keep it in mind,” Highblood replies with a nod. The troll sits back in their chair, closes their eyes, and Highblood feels an urge to smack them. Sleeping on the job would never go over in the ports of the city. He instead reaches over to the large tarp that covers the entrance to the port building, pushes it aside, and passed into cooler dimness._ _

__The inside of the port town is just as slapped together as the pier. The buildings are two to three stories at most, with little or no space between, and made of wood, plaster, and stone without any real rhyme or reason. A few have metal here and there, but they look to be more patches than anything else. Doors to small shops hang lopsided in their frames, facing the sand and dirt paths that lead away from the pier in a spiderweb fashion. Above the Highblood, the only thing that keeps the direct sun off the roads are tarps that are pulled tight between buildings. Some have rickety bridge-like structures leading from roof to roof, providing dark shadows between the dingy, stained glass-like shadows of the tarps. Here and there, sharp beams of sunlight stab through holes in the fabric to leave burning spots upon the path. Everything beneath the tarps is damp from the mist that leaks in through the wood walls that line the beach._ _

__A trickle of trolls run along the paths. Some stumble and lean against the folding frames of the port stores while others quickly move along despite it being so late in the day. He walks past a drunken fool pissing against the wall to the docks. The drunk aims his piss between the gap in the wall and the beach, letting the brownish liquid hiss as it hits hot sand. Highblood stays well away from the mist that blossoms up from underneath the gap._ _

___‘Bet I could get that motherfucker to dig a hole right out there.’_ Highblood watches as the troll attempts to button his pants, fails, and starts staggering towards the dock entrance. _‘Wouldn’t even feel the sun. He’d be too busy fighting off his own think-pan.’_ The voodoos start to unwind from him just a touch, but he stops them as they do their first stroke down the troll's spine. He watches the brown-blood teeter on his feet, clutching at the curtain to the docks to stay standing as he pants heavily; the fabric holds, miraculously. It would be simple to finish him off, but now’s not the time. The troll before him is more of a test than a treat. No need to be spreading the fear without reason. Highblood drops the voodoos, and with a totter, the troll disappears into the halls of the docks._ _

__“Shit-blood,” he grumbles to himself. “He’ll turn his brain to shit too if he keeps that up.” A small chuckle escapes him before the Grand Highblood looks at the corner of the buildings. Each one is nothing but a wall of text in different colors hanging on loose boards; each has a different shop description and name. He scans a few of them before finding the one that points towards the different ‘Inns’ in the area, each with a different blurb about what they offer beneath._ _

___‘Nothing but pests sleeping in there and that’s just the trolls.’_ The closer he gets, the less the descriptions tell him, and soon they are just signs with names. There are four or five taverns in the square he finds, though he can’t tell if the fifth is still opened or condemned. There’s a troll in the doorway, but beyond them, the place looks burnt out. Not freshly either. _ _

___‘Doubt Mindfang’s crew would let themselves be seen in a shitshow like that.’_ The Grand Highblood looks at the other four. Two of them seem to be nothing but brothels, so he mentally checks those off. The third looks decent enough, but then he remembers what the sailor at the front had said. _ _

__“Mistka’s,” he murmurs as he looks at the sign hanging above. Its letters are faded, but the sign is clean. The wood has been patched, the paint redone sometime within the last sweep or so, and upon further inspection, he realizes none of the glass is broken. It doesn’t all match, but that’s definitely a good indication of the place inside._ _

__When he walks through the door, what he finds is not indicative of the outside. Chairs are turned over, glass is on the floor, and it looks like some sort of food-fight and brawl had broken out from the signs of blood and grub loaf on the walls._ _

__“Kitchen’s closed; kitchen’s closed!”_ _

__Highblood turns to find a stout rustblood coming towards him, a broom in hand. She is short, even for a lowblood, and old enough that the black of her hair is starting to reflect her color at the roots. Her clothing, while definitely old, is well taken care of except for some fresh stains on the arms and skirt. She gives Highblood a dark look as she plants herself before him._ _

__“I’m assuming you’re Mistka.”_ _

__“That would be right. Do you need a room?”_ _

__“Not exactly.” Highblood looks at the trashed first floor. “What happened in here?”_ _

__The rustblood seems to puff up for a moment. “Pirates,” she spits out. “Came in here seeming like a good enough lot. Paid handsomely upfront, bought lots of food and drink. Then the buggers apparently heard something they didn’t like.” She glares at the stairs. “If they hadn’t bought me out of my rooms I would have kicked them out the second that bitch threw a punch. But I wasn’t about to have a highblood retaliation on my hands.”_ _

__“Highblood?”_ _

__She grunts an affirmative. “Had a cerulean. Shocked the rust out of me when I saw her knuckles. Knew I couldn’t just tell her to leave. I mean, you know what they can be like. You look like an understanding Olive.”_ _

__Highblood does his best not to smirk as yellowing eyes look up at him. _‘Eyes must be failing to think I’m that low.’__ _

__“Course I do,” he replies as he reaches into his pocket. “I’m actually here to help pay off her debts; was down mindin’ the boats on the dock. Meant to come sooner, but her errand boy, that drunk motherfucker, took forever getting back to me. Couldn’t even tell me what happened.”_ _

__“You must mean that brown-blooded fool that drank at least half the soporifics behind the bar.” She shakes her head. “I don’t like using the term, but if anyone out there is a shit-blood, it’d be him. I think his blood is only brown because he swapped it with barley beer.”_ _

__Highblood gives a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll agree with you there. How much do we owe ya?”_ _

__The Rust-blood looks over the room with an arm across her bosom and a fist under her chin. “With sopor lost and damage to the furniture, I’d say somewhere around 300 coin.”_ _

__“Ten Ranth then. Though, could you tell me what room she’s in first? Need to make sure I tell the cap’in how much I’m givin’ ya beforehand. She’ll murder me dead if I pay up before consulting her.”_ _

__The rust-blood snorts. “Room 9. Only suite I have, though good luck getting anything out of her. If you thought that brown-blood was drunk, she took the loaf on ‘im.” Mistka shakes her head before sighing. “I’ll be down here somewhere when you’re ready to settle up.” She looks around the room again and then passed Highblood. “Looks like I’ll be needing the ladder...again.”_ _

__Highblood turns to see a tapestry high above the door hanging on by a single tack._ _

__“Room nine?” he asks as he stares at the hanging fabric._ _

__“Room nine.”_ _

__Highblood leaves Mistka to clean as he heads upstairs. Behind the closed doors, he can hear groans, moans, and not all of them are due to hangovers._ _

___‘The harlots are out tonight.’_ He’s proven correct when one door slams open, and a yellow blooded troll with a torn dress stomps out._ _

__“Heeeey, ‘m sorry ‘bout da dress. I’ll buys you another.” An olive stumbles out of the room after her._ _

__“You barely had enough for the bulge job,” she snaps over her shoulder before heading down the stairs. Highblood smirks as he walks past the stunned pirate._ _

__“Better go after her. Otherwise, you’ll be more of a motherfuckin’ joke than the pier.”_ _

__Highblood gives a slight enhancement to the strum of fear that courses through the man, and watches him haphazardly run down the hall; banging into doors as he goes._ _

__At the end of the hall, he finds room nine. His first instinct is the reach with the voodoos, see what he can feel, but he’s not about to give himself away when he’s already this close. Behind the wood, he hears a grunt and a gentle thud. Pushing his ear to the door, he can barely make out the scritch of a quill._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creating the monetary system was so much fun. Had to do it all based on the one coin that Terezi has a the beginning, as Boonbucks aren't troll currency.


	3. Three Sheets to the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those more sexual warnings are going to start applying to this chapter. Enjoy!

_4th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dim Season Equinox_

_Fucking port-rats would rot without me and my crew. I swear this shit-hole gets worse every time we show up. Even Mistka is having a harder time keeping her place ship-shape. She scrubs, bakes, and brews more than anyone else down here and trolls STILL give her shit. I bet this entire port would be swept away by the seas if not for that rust-blood. She gots the strength of a wave and will crash down on a troll with twice the force._

_Not that we did her much help today. Some piss-blooded fucker got wind that we were ‘sympathizers’ and how stupid it was to support Summoner. Fuck him. Do I want to follow that brown-blooded piece of shit anymore? No! But do I believe in the cause? Of course I fucking do, I wouldn’t have put my ass on the line if I didn’t believe in what he was selling. The produce has just gone sour under him and the entire movements about to get scurvy._

_Hopefully Brinks will get back sometime after nightfall with the settlement. Bastard was drunk off his ass when I sent him back. Sad thing was he was the only one able to leave the fucking bar. I keep forgetting how quick those soporifics go through lowbloods. Thank god it doesn’t last long with their hot blood. I’ll be feeling it until the mid-night at least. Not a bad thing if Summoner shows up. Don’t think I could take that fucker’s bulge without something in me. Maybe I should order-_

Mindfang pauses in her scribblings as there is a knock on her door. She quickly opens her hollow book and shoves the small journal inside before flipping open her captain's log.

“The fuck did I say about disturbing me!” She does her best to keep her voice sharp despite how drunk she still is. At least she can keep her feet under her.

“Here to settle up with the damages downstairs.”

“And who the fuck are you?” She gets up and grabs her cutlass. “If you fuckers think I’m paying anything to anyone but Mistka herself then you’ve got another thing coming, and it’s coming out your waste-shoot and will be delivered by my cutlass.” She jerks the door open and points the cutlass right at the troll outside. Only, she’s pointing it at their chest. Her eyes travel upwards, and she finds a rather tall teal blood standing outside. Her grip immediately tightens.

His eyes look her up and down, and she can almost feel them scraping along her skin. They look odd in the light, like the irises don’t quite fit.

“Might want to worry about your own ass, seeing as it’s all up and hanging out for everyone to see.” 

Mindfang blinks in confusion before glancing down. She’s wearing only her undershirt, the tie in front doing little to cover up her rumble-spheres she realizes, and then she’s got nothing but her skivvies on under that. Not that he can see those...except she’s got an arm raised.

Her hand comes down quickly to poke the cutlass into the troll's belly. 

“Get the fuck out of here before I gut you and paint this hall the same color as the sea.”

“Or, you can let me all up and in there so we can get our chat on.”

“And why would I-” A shock of fear runs up her spine. It is precise, nameless, and recognition hits hard.

“Do you want me to gut you,” she hisses as her eyes jerk up and down the hall.

“Don’t think that’s what you really want to be doing right now, and not what I want either, though I’d love to see some of that cerulean back on your lips.” She feels a jerk in her belly while she gives him a sneer. Her mind whirls and prods at his, not enough for him to know she’s there, but enough to tell her that he’s telling the truth. He’s not here for bloodshed, though it’s definitely on his mind.

“You’ve got ten minutes.” She steps back to let him in, though her cutlass stays raised. “And this better be worth my time or you’ll be fighting to remember your own name by the time you leave here.” She shuts the door.

“Bet I could make you forget yours too, Spinneret. Though I’m not sure what would be more fun; using my voodoo’s or my tongue.”

“And here I thought you cultists couldn’t think past your faith. Guess I’ll have to remember it extends as far as your bulge.”

The Grand Highblood laughs before seating himself at the table. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to shove the black out of the way for now. I’m here for information, and from what I can tell, I’m pretty sure you’re going to up and tell me anything I want to know.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“No threats,” Highblood replies with his hands raised. She knows that each one could easily crush her head.

“Then what do you want, clown?” She sits down across from him, her cutlass on her thigh.

“I want to know why the Summoner’s fins are flipping the tides on him.”

Mindfang’s blood-pusher jumps. Well, the hell was she expecting? She had gotten a group of mid and low-bloods caught to fuck him over, and for all she knows they’re dead. Or worse.

_‘I’m as bad as him,’_ she thinks to herself as she reaches for the mug on the table. It is incredibly light, and when she pushes the tarnished, but clean, metal to her lips, barely any liquid drips heat onto her tongue.

“Need some sopor to loosen that tongue of yours? Seeing downstairs, I would think you’d had enough to sing me to sleep.”

“I can be a siren when I want.” She puts down the mug. “But like hell if I’m singing. I’ll tell you about things when I want and if I want. What’s going on with Summoner is none of your business.”

“Motherfucker’s all of my business, or do you not understand what us subjugglators do?” 

Mindfang can’t hide her shiver of fear with the booze in her system, but she can keep her glare. 

“I know exactly what you do, why do you think I want you face down and ass up in the waves?” She licks her lips and feels how dry they are. Her tongue begs for something wet.

“I’m not moving out of here unless you tell me something I want to hear.”

“A deal then,” she says as she sits back in her chair and throws her long legs up on the table. They are lined with old scars —a patch of burnt skin from a misfiring canon— but she doesn’t care if he sees those. She’s lived long enough to be proud of her marks. Mindfang knows she’ll be able to live through a few more.

Highblood cocks his head to the side.

“You cover our bill downstairs, and I’ll tell you about two raids in the next perigee, and throw in another bottle of sopor. The good shit.”

“Only if I get a swig.” He reaches into his pocket. Mindfang watches him start to pull out coins. 

“It was about-” she starts as she rubs at her skull.

“300 coin, I know.” He gives her an unnerving smirk. “Talked to that rusty downstairs already.”

“You harm a head on her hair— I mean a single hair on her head, and-”

“Don’t worry, Spinneret,” he says as he digs through his coins. He pulls out six Kinch and 4 Ranths. It's plenty to pay off the small dept for damages and the sopor. “Hard working troll like her, would be a damn shame to do her any harm. Hard work does up and mean something to the subjugglators you know.”

“Really? I thought you just smoked Solanum Negros and killed shit.”

“That too.” There is real mirth in his voice as he gets up with his handful of coin. “Be right back.”

Mindfang just about falls out of her chair with how quickly she swings her legs off the table, hand on her cutlass.

“Looks like your legs are wantin’ to get back in the water,” Highblood chuckles. 

Her cheeks burn. “And yours would look better disconnected.” Fear laces up her spine. 

“That a threat?”

The sopor helps her instincts react faster than her logic. Highblood’s fist, coins and all, comes up and pops him right in the nose. Surprise and fear roots Mindfang to the spot while she does her best to sneer at him.

Highblood’s head turns towards her slowly, the slightest trickle of purple running down his cheek. Mindfang does her best to ignore how much she enjoys seeing the color.

“Sure you don’t want something else besides sopor?” Fear floods her senses along with an ache in her groin. She hasn’t seen a pail since... well over a perigee with how things are going with Summoner, and she can’t remember her last black romp.

“Get the sopor, and I’ll let you know.” She’s proud of how steady she keeps her voice despite his voodoos swarming her. 

Highblood grins, wipes the purple away with the back of his hand, and drops the coins on the table.

“Haha. I think you’ve had enough for what I have in mind.” He goes to take a step forward, and instinct kicks in again. Mindfang watches him suddenly struggle against his own brain to move.

“Oh, I know what’s in that twisted little pan of yours,” she tells him as she walks forward on deceptively steady legs. She pushes the cutlass just below his lowest grub-scar on his left side. “And while I like the sentiment, you’re the one who's going to be leaving some stains.”

The fear that rushes to the pit of her stomach holds a tinge of dark things that has her bone-sheathing splitting and nook dripping. She can feel Highblood’s eyes on her groin, can almost see through them as she holds tight to his mind and motor functions.

“What kind of miracle you got up in there?” he asks her as he licks his lips.

She doesn’t respond as she walks past him, hard as it is to balance with the fear trying to spin her to the floor.

“Just a little mutation,” she replies as she reaches out and locks the door. “And I know how much you highbloods hate mutations.”

With what’s spinning in Highblood’s brain, she knows he’s more than ready to get between her thighs and hate her with everything he has.

_‘Better be ready to scream for me siren.’_ The words echo in his head and come back to her with a flicker of fear that makes her nook clench and her bulge-sheathing crack.

As soon as the lock slides into place, fear torrents through her at a level she had never expected. Mindfang lets out a gasp as she stumbles slightly. Hands wrap around her hips and yank her backward. Her body hits a wall of muscle and bone and knocks the rest of the air out of her lungs. 

Highblood shoves his face into the crook of her neck. Warm breath ghosts over her skin just before his fangs find their way into her flesh. They only go deep enough to draw the slightest of cerulean, but the fear makes her feel like they are going so much deeper. She lets out a cry.

“Bastard,” she hisses as her brain smacks down the fear and sends him stumbling back. He tugs her with him, and both go down hard on the floor. 

“Watch it, Spinneret,” he growls as she forces him to let go and moves so she can face him. “I’m a screamer.” Confusion crosses over his face while she smiles down at him. She can feel him trying to still his tongue while her mind loosens it.

“Are you now?”

“Yes,” he grits out. Mindfang can feel him fighting her control, pushing the voodoos at her while she shifts above him. 

“Good thing I locked the door then.” She grabs at his clothing and goes to tear it before she hears a stutter of distress. “Aw, what’s wrong, I didn’t think you cared so much about your earthly possessions.”

“I do when they mean my ass getting out of here in one piece.”

Mindfang scowls. “So I don’t even get to tear these off of you?” She tugs at the cloth — Highblood shrugs. “What kind of black tiff is it if I can’t do anything to you?” she grumbles as she pushes herself up and steps away from him. Highblood follows quickly, though she again forces him to stop. She sits down on the couch in the room, the one with the slipcover that looks like it’s seen more bleach than a scrub-tub.

“Strip,” she orders. Mindfang keeps her will set tight in his brain, and Highblood grits his teeth as his hands move without him.

“Aye aye, captain,” he snarls. 

She sits back, hands draped over the top of the couch as she watches his large hands work on his small buttons. 

“Careful,” she says with a smirk. “Don’t tear one.” A button pops off as she sends a spasm through his hand. 

Highblood’s eyes narrow, and around the rims of whatever contacts he’s wearing, she can see the purple of his irises. The voodoos crawl around inside her, touching her deep in ways she didn’t know fear could. She shifts and regrets it immediately because it leads to him smiling. Mindfang shudders as he drops his coat to the floor and goes to his undershirt.

“Didn’t think all we did was fear, did ya?” 

She feels the fear almost like a solid thing sliding into her lower belly and prodding down to settle between her thighs. She forces her legs apart, her groin open to him and only covered by the undergarment that is slowly being stained with cerulean. 

“Haven’t really shown me anything else yet.” Her voice stays steady.

“Give me back my hands and I will.” He bends down to undo the laces of his shoes, his eyes never leaving her thighs. The skin along the inside crawls, and her bone sheathing splits completely. His eyes go a little wide, and if she weren’t the one in control of his hands, she’s sure he would have paused. 

“You really do have a miracle down there, don’t you,” he murmurs as his shoes come off before he stands. His hands shove down his pants a moment later, and Mindfang finds her body clenching. 

“I’m not the only one.” She had expected him to be big, which he is, but she wasn’t expecting how thick he looks; more than her wrist, that’s for sure. 

“Come here.” Mindfang curls a finger at him, and Highblood steps out of his pants. Each time she curls her finger he takes a step, and she does her best to keep him from moving any quicker than the pace she sets. The closer he gets, the harder it becomes to control him, and when he’s less than a body length away, she drops the control. 

Highblood almost immediately drops between her legs, large hands grabbing her thighs roughly and jerking her forwards. She gives a little gasp as his thumb wiggles between the cloth that separates him from her nook. With a jerk, the nail tears through the thin fabric, and Mindfang’s mutation comes into view.

Mindfang gives a sigh of relief as her eight bulges writhe against one another and her nook. There are four that would be considered small in width near the front of her sheathing, though when they spiral together, they make a thick, decent sized singular shape. The other four are small, near the back of the sheathing, and are just before her nook. She can see him staring at them as they prod at her nook, stimulating her even though they can’t go in very far. 

“Motherfucker,” Highblood murmurs as he pushes a finger into her nook. The smaller bulges immediately push and wriggle against his finger while the larger four wrap around his wrist. His hand pushes and pulls, twists, and she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Not going pale on me are yo-!” Her voice cuts off as the finger inside her shoves in and curls harshly upwards. 

“Nah,” he replies before pulling it out quickly, which makes her hips jerk forwards. “You can’t just spring something like that on a motherfucker and not expect him to take a minute to get a feel for it.” 

Mindfang grabs his horn and jerks him forwards. Highblood goes with her grip and meets the fangs that she has out and waiting for him. Mindfang bites and sucks at his mouth while his hands force her legs up and out. Her heels rest on his shoulder as he tugs her closer to him. He goes to stand, and she forces him back down. He responds with a shock of fear, but she doesn’t let up.

“Stay down, or you’ll be leaving with nothing.” She’s not about to give him the upper hand like that. Putting them on equal levels is the only way she’ll be keeping herself alive if this goes from black to bad.

Highblood’s teeth flash into a blue-tinted grin. “Got a fear bubbling in that brain of yours?” 

She can feel him prodding at it, trying to make it grow. 

“Yeah,” she replies as she takes control for a moment. “That I’m going to fall asleep before you get moving.” She forces his hips forwards. Highblood’s bulge pushes and keeps going even without her brain behind it. Mindfang grabs tight to his shoulders as her body tries to take the bulge that doesn’t seem to want to end; it keeps going, curling up inside her. Her own bulges wrap around the base, the larger ones constricting while the others writhe and press into what is already inside her.

“This enough movement for ya?” Highblood asks as his bulge thrashes inside. Mindfang tries to think of words to respond with but only finds air coming out of her throat. 

“What all up and happened to my singing, siren?” Highblood jerks his hips while his bulge corkscrews inside. Mindfang gives a cry that is caught between pleasure and pain. Highblood’s laugh echoes through her as he pushes his body against hers, his bulge deep and thrashing. “One note doesn’t make a song.”

Mindfang snarls a smile. Highblood knows what’s coming but can’t block her brain with fear before she has them rolling. She goes with him, his grip releasing so that her legs can go to the side of his thighs, and the second his ass hits the couch, it’s her turn to flash some teeth. 

“Then let’s get a tempo going.” Grabbing his horns again, she pulls him into a position where her teeth can find his chest. She wants his throat, but drawing color where it is noticeable is something to worry about, so she goes for a pec instead. Her four larger bulges push down between his legs and push upwards into the opening of his nook. At this angle, there isn’t much she can do, but she knows how to mix the shallow penetration with the press and constant stimulation from the smaller bulges pushing down and around the base of his bulge. 

Highblood lets out a groan as his hands grip tight to her hips. When he pushes up, she pushes down, and while it is definitely a lot to take, she’s got enough control to mess with his mind in between his thrusts. 

His claws push into her hips, and she can already feel the bruises. Mindfang returns them in kind, her hands gripping his shoulders and pushing marks into his biceps while sucking a mark into his chest.

_‘Higher damn it,’_ she hears his mind beg.

She smiles. “Thought showing your color was a no-no, Bozo.” 

He makes a sound that’s almost like a whine.

“Bitch, if we were anywhere else-”

“If we were anywhere else you’d be calling me a rainbow drinker.” She shifts her body, feels him move, and enjoys the pain that blossoms on her hips and lower back from his hands.

“Interesting idea.”

Highblood’s fangs sink deep into her throat, pierce, and she flounders. He had moved so quickly. How? She grips his hair and tries to pull him away while his teeth move under her skin, and his bulge thrashes inside her. 

“Highblood,” she gasps as she tries to get away, his hands don’t give her any choice but to stay right on his bulge. Her mind tries to grab onto his, but feeling her own blood rush down her chest makes her mind slip. “Highblood,” she says again as the world spins before her eyes. His teeth slide out, and she can feel a gush of blood run down her chest. Why had she trusted that this wouldn’t end in death?

“Who’s the rainbow drinker now?” Highblood’s voice is a low rumble before he licks her neck. Mindfang gasps as she feels the blood disappear, the gash becomes a small set of punctures, and the pure relief mixed with the thrashing of his bulge has her painting their thighs cerulean. 

“You know,” Highblood says as she collapses forwards. “There’s only one place up in here that I can put my color where no one else will see.”

Mindfang gives a cry, and he pushes her sensitive nook down further onto his bulge until he’s as deep as he can go. 

“Don’t you dare-” she starts before he gives a laugh that goes groan. Something cool pours into her, filling up the space behind her seedflap. She cries out, her hands drag over his chest, and purple springs from beneath her fingertips. 

“There’s my siren’s song,” Highblood pants as he gently thrashes inside her. She collapses against him, the trickle of blood from her neck mixing with that on his chest. 

“Bastard,” she growls as she forces herself to rise and then fall to the side of him. Having him slip from her leaves her body feeling hollow, but she’s not about to let him know that. “Get me a pail.”

“You think having a pail full of purple is a good idea here?” Highblood asks her with a smirk.

Mindfang opens her mouth before shutting it tight. He stands up, cerulean running down his legs, and grabs the cover on the couch. Mindfang is barely able to get up in time before he tears it off and uses it to clean himself up. Cerulean and purple soaks into the sheet and Mindfang finds herself wondering where the fuck she’s going to stash it.

“Think I’ll keep this,” Highblood says as he wads it up into a ball. 

“Sure,” she grumbles in response, having to support herself with a nearby chair. Mindfang watches him with somewhat unfocused eyes as he redresses. Somehow he manages to cover every single nick she left behind.

“Now, how about that talk?” he asks as he turns toward her, fully dressed beside one missing button.

“How about that sopor?” Mindfang shoots back. Highblood chuckles and picks up the coins on his table. 

“Damn, and here I thought I’d fucked you hard enough to stop your pan ticking.”

“Going to have to do better than that.” It’s hard to keep her thighs from shaking.

Highblood shakes his head and smiles before heading to the door. Mindfang watches him go before staggering upwards. She pulls off her tattered undergarment and throws her coat around her. Tip-toeing out into the hall, she heads to the stairwell. She’s got to make sure he does what he said he would.

She gets to the landing, staying in the shadows. 

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting this so soon,” she can hear Mistka say from downstairs. “Thought she’d already have been out with how much she drank, though I guess you mid-caste are pretty resilient when it comes to the sopor.”

“Better believe it, sister. She was going in and out for a while, but as soon as she got what we were up and discussing she got your coin. She knows the shit you go through down here, and while I doubt she’d say it, she does like the place.”

Mindfang peaks over the side to see Highblood talking with Mistka.

“Well of course,” the rust-blood says with a smirk in her voice. “Only place in this sand-flea infested dock that doesn’t actually have the fleas.”

The laugh that Highblood lets out surprises Mindfang. There is actual, true humor to it. It sounds almost wrong coming out of his throat. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He must give Mistka a wink or something because she chuckles as she takes the money. “Also need another bottle of whatever she was drinkin, and another mug. Whatever’s left is yours.”

“Well thank you,” Mistka says as she disappears. Mindfang keeps watching, waiting to hear him say something degrading to Mistka, or hurtful; instead, he stands and waits. She gives a gentle prod at him, tries to see what’s going on in his head. He turns his eyes upward slightly and smirks.

Mindfang doesn’t wait to finish watching the transaction after that. Quickly, she pads back to the room on her shaking legs. She quickly tears some paper from her journal and jots down two places and two times. She also grabs the couch cover, wraps it up so that the corners cover the colors and the papers, and waits to hear the door. 

Highblood opens the door, bottle at the ready, and Mindfang shoves the cloth in his chest. “Black don’t get to come back,” Mindfang tells him, loud enough that her closest crew can hear her.

“We had a deal-”

_‘Go with it,’_ she hisses mentally.

“Your short two Ranths, bitch.”

“And you’ve got a few holes in that pan if you think I’m paying full price for that pailing.” She shoves him back. “Now get your ass out of here.”

_‘Your informations in your trophy.’_

_‘Can I play again to win another prize?’_ He grins down at her before twisting it into a frown. “Fucking bitch,” he gripes before turning away. He stomps away, acting like a spurned whore while she watches his ass disappear down the hall. She shifts a little, feels the stickiness of his purple between her thighs.

She holds her sopor bottle tight as she heads to the bathroom. Mindfang bites out the cork, takes a large swig, and starts the water. The old pipes begin to rattle as she waits for the water to warm up. 

Mindfang looks at the drain and feels the slight strain of the genetic material behind her seedflap. It sits heavy and cool –a completely different feeling than the sickening heat that Summoner fills her with. If she lets it out in here, then no-one will know, just the pipes. She stares at the drain a moment longer before feeling one last touch of fear shiver up her spine –a shuddering goodbye.

“Too easy,” she murmurs and steps under the spray. She keeps Highblood's purple until she’s well out to sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love bulges and nooks. So much fun to write.


	4. In the Offing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing in both of these characters' headspaces and trying to figure out how they would react to one another. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> As always, if you find anything that stands out, feel free to let me know so I can get it fixed.

_4th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dark Season Equinox_

_All the information I’ve given him and he hasn’t killed a single one. At least, none since the first group. The last two hits I told him about went without a hitch from what I can tell from the reports. No death, no torture; he got them clasped and sent to the work camps. Not the best thing for them either, but he’s not killing them._

_I can’t believe his pale had been sympathetic to the Signless. Who would have known, especially since he knew but never turned her in. Guess he must of agreed with something he said. He doesn’t sympathize with Summoner though. Thinks he’s a shadow compared to the Signless. I have to agree._

_Doesn’t mean I still fully trust the empress's pawn, but I can’t say I_ don’t _distrust him. For everything I tell him he’s started giving me information. Stuff on some of the towns that the Imperial Con-beast was going to hit just to make a show of her power. Saved a lot of lives. Summoner wanted to do the opposite. Soon as that fucker learned about the hits and tried to rally a group to attack the highbloods. Managed to talk him down on it, telling him that the reason we knew was that a highblood had sent the warning. He had immediately wanted to know who they were, but I managed to make him realize how dangerous it would be and that we could lose an important contact. A little ‘red’ time and he was satisfied with leaving it alone._

__

__

_The entire time we were together I wanted to tear off those damn wings of his. Not black, there isn’t much that could be considered black for him. He’s a completely different troll than the scallywag I first fell for. There is so little of that troll left. I can’t believe I followed him for as long as I did._

_It won’t be long now, though. That behemoth is eating out of the palm of my hand and I’m going to use him to end the next reign of tyranny before it begins. Second Summoner is in the ground I’ll take over. This rebellion needs a leader, and who better to do it than the ‘ocean’ to Summoner’s ‘air’. Might help that the Highblood seems to be on my side. Fear is a powerful weapon, and he has that in spades._

_Meeting him in a cave system a few clicks from port. Little place I furnished myself. Summoner doesn’t even know about it. A pirate needs their secrets, and my little slice of coastline wasn’t something I was going to give up to him. Hate having to share it with the Highblood, but sacrifices must be made to win this war, and if I end up losing that spot then so be it. It’s not like it’s my only one._

Mindfang closes her little journal, grabs the false book, and shoves it inside. She needs to get moving soon, or she’s going to have to face Summoner when he gets back. She’d really rather not have to come up with some sort of explanation as to why she’s leaving in the middle of the day in her one-troll dingy. Not that she wouldn’t be able to come up with something convincing, hell she could probably just tell him she's meeting an informant, but she also knows he would want to come along. 

“Moyrah, I’m off, you’re in control,” she calls out as she goes and grabs her already filled pack. It just enough items for a couple of night, with a couple of soporifics and bandages thrown into the mix.

“Aye captain,” comes from behind her closed cabin door.

Mindfang steps out into her map and planning room to find her first mate. Moyrah gives a wave from where they are going over a map; battle lines are drawn all over. Mindfang can’t help but smirk a little as she passes. Moyrah has been going through their plans almost as tirelessly as Mindfang herself. There is a pang of guilt in her breast as she watches them count off with a compass. All their planning, all their work, and she’s been slowly sabotaging them every step of the way.

Mindfang stops just before the door. “Take the night off, would ya? If I’m not working, you don’t have to either.”

“Says the troll that just put me in charge,” Moyrah replies dryly.

“You know what I mean.” Mindfang reaches over and tossels Moyrah’s hair, just to annoy them. “Give yourself some downtime.” 

Moyrah pulls back and glares a little while slicking their hair back, pushing the black strands back into place and fixing her with a rust-colored glare. “You realize this is why we are rumored black, right?”

“Really? Thought it was because of your glares.” Mindfang grins.

“If that were true then that would be a rumor involving half the crew.” 

Mindfang shrugs.

Moyrah rolls their eyes. “Well, whoever your new kismessis is, please ask them to leave a smear of color somewhere next time. If I get asked about your bulge one more time, we may start losing crew.”

Mindfang pats their shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m not biting and telling with this one.”

“Well, I hope you're smart enough not to invite them back to your room this time.”

Mindfang can’t help but scowl. 

“What did I say about that.”

“Not to talk about it, though I’m just saying, watch yourself with the teals,” Moyrah says as they roll the map back up. “Just because we have you on our side doesn’t mean we have all the blue tints with us.”

“Your worry has been noted.” Mindfang steps back.

“Wasn’t meant to be insulting,” Moyrah tells her, back straight and eyes forward. “Just going off the facts. We’ve had teals and blues turn on us before, and I don’t trust someone I can’t see.”

“And you can’t go off my trust?” Her stomach drops at the question while she keeps her face stony and unreadable.

“Doesn’t matter if I trust you or not. You’re not them.”

Mindfang doesn’t respond. She’s known Moyrah too long. Once a rust makes up their mind, they make up their mind. 

_’When a troll does,’_ she corrects herself. _’Not just rusts.’_ She can’t stop the thought that they are still the most stubborn of the trolls she has ever met.

“I’ll be back in a lunar cycle.” She heads for the door. “If it I’m not back halfway through the next Bilunar, though, you know what to do.”

“What should I tell Summoner?” 

Mindfang pauses for just a moment before she shrugs. “That I’m meeting our informant.”

“He’s not going to like that.”

Mindfang doesn’t respond as she opens the door and heads out. She doesn’t rightly care if Summoner likes it or not. She’s got a Highblood to meet with, and there is already the possibility of her being late. All she can hope is that the tides are with her and that the wind stays out of Summoner’s sails.  
\-------------------------------

_Not enough motherfuckers talk about sand. Shits downright crazy. Pack it hard enough you get a stone, crumbly stone, but a stone. Give it enough water or dry it enough and you might as well just have another liquid. Not that I spend all my time thinking about sand but better to sit here and do something while waiting on Spinnerette. Bitch is late as ever, either that or she’s sitting inside all nice and cool while I sweat my ass off in here. Should have brought along Rebver, least I could have found out what’s going on with that grub. Pretty sure he’s going red for someone, the poor motherfucker. Every time I see him he’s got his pan in the clouds. Be nice to know who all has his fancy. Everyone is wonderin who has mine._

_Can’t blame them I guess. Hard to stay focused when I get a need for some blue on my lips. Mindfang’s nooks better than any soporific I’ve ever had, probably because she drinks so much. Pretty sure she could put me under the table if I ever let her, not to say we haven’t gotten close. Hope she brings some of that bootleg shit she gets from the ports. Never had something burn so much going down. Smooth as sand it is._

_This ain’t about the sopor though, or even the nook. Mindfang’s got a pan to her, I’ll give her that, and the stuff she’s showing me is scary. She could rival the Condeas’s work, blows my shit out of the water, not that I’m much of a planner. Got motherfuckers to do that for me. But I can lead, voodoos or not, I know I have my trolls at my back. Have to wonder how many of her crew were twisted into shape before she had a change of heart. Hell, wonder if she hasn’t done the same to me._

Highblood stares down at the sentence.

“Guess the bitch really is getting into my head,” he chuckles as he goes to strike it out. The pen hovers before he smirks and closes the little book. If his pan-piece up and wanted that in there then it will stay in there. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out what he was trying to tell himself later. 

He looks out over the sea, the sun’s red rays already starting to glint over the edge. The waves are mostly still, the air is heavy, and he knows that he’s going to have a fun couple of perigees if he and Mindfang have to shack up together during a storm.

Watching the skyline, Highblood spots a speck against the red. It only takes a few moments for him to tell it’s her personal boat. It’s only big enough for maybe two trolls, looking more like a life raft than an actual boat, but it’s quicker than one would expect and he knows its looks are all for show. 

The sand under his feet shifts as he stands, making him feel a tad unsteady before it stops. The coast here is pretty saturated, the sun having yet to suck out the moisture and make it into steam above the waves. He hopes that wherever they’re about to go, it’s cool. Air this hot is almost enough to drive a highblood crazy. Even if Mindfang is a few pegs down the ladder from him, he knows that the heat can’t bode well for her.

Mindfang’s vessel coasts a little way down the coast towards a small cove area. Highblood’s personal ship is in there already. He had sailed passed the cove at least three times before he saw the indent in the rock. It had been a hard squeeze, but the hollowed out pocket inside had been plenty large enough for him to drop anchor. Getting onto the shelf of rock hadn’t been as easy, and he had almost gone down into the water trying to step over the gap between boat and dryland. He had managed, though, and had tied off around a good sized rock.

Highblood follows the small path that he had followed out to the shoreline. He had thought it might lead to wherever they were staying, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. He makes his way down the sandy path, which quickly turns to stone, and sidles in between a crack in the damp rock. 

“Thought you were gonna up and leave me to cook,” Highblood calls out as Mindfang emerges from her ship. It bobs on the opposite side from his. He watches her leap from the lip of her vessel to the rock in one graceful movement. Highblood suppresses an amused smirk as he strides towards her.

“I thought about it,” she says as she ties off her dingy. “But then, I figured you wouldn’t be as fun all heat stroked.” She grins up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down. His hands find her forearms and squeeze while her teeth worry his lips with a promise of future cuts.

“Still a chance I’ll get it if we stay out here much longer,” he murmurs. His hands trail up her arms to her shoulders and squeeze them, just shy of bruising.

“Then I suggest we get inside.” Her words are almost a purr as she sends out a pulse for him to let her go. It’s a completely unnecessary action, but Highblood would be lying if it didn’t make his groin ache a little. She steps away from him and heads towards one of the stone walls. He raises a brow, waiting for her to push something and a door to open. No such thing happens.

Mindfang simply vanishes.

“Spinnerette?” he calls as he takes step forward. His eyes scan over the area, searching for wherever she has gone.

“Yeeeeeeees?” Her head seems to materialize out of nowhere. Her grin is broad, and her eyes seem to taunt him with their humor.

Highblood comes closer, his eyes trying to figure out what he is seeing. It takes a moment before he realizes that there is, again, a space in the stone; a smooth channel that is only visible when viewing it head-on.

“Very clever,” he grunts.

“Fooled you.” She heads down the passage, her horns almost scraping the top. Highblood finds himself having to stoop low, almost having to crawl. If not for the close walls he probably would, instead he uses them to his advantage by pushing his hands against them to keep him somewhat standing while he takes hesitant steps down into the gloom. It doesn’t take long before the light is almost gone and ahead of him, a flame sputters into existence.

“Come on now,” she calls back. “I didn’t know you could move so slow.”

He sends a pulse of fear at her that makes the wavering light flicker violently for a moment. A chuckle trickles back to him. “Someone’s testy.”

“I feel like a finned beast crammed in a can,” he grunts as he watches the light. It sudden goes around some sort of corner, leaving him in almost total darkness except for the tendrils that peak around at him.

“Well get out here, and you can stand up.” Mindfang’s voice echoes back to him.

Highblood grunts, his thighs burning from his crouched stride. It takes another minute for him to make it to the bend in the tunnel where he finds a spectacular sight. While he had been making his way down the corridor, Mindfang had been lighting candles. Lots of candles. Lamps line the walls of the cavern, casting a dancing light over the water-worn stone. The area is a decent size, tall enough for him to stand comfortably, but with only a few inches to spare for his horns. The floor is stone covered in sand, and in places, large burlap rugs have been laid down over what look to be rougher patches.

“How in the hell did you find this?” he wonders as he turns. There is a table, a few chests, and what looks like a recuperacoon. 

“Seadweller,” Mindfang replies. “Felt her mind down in here one day while going along the coast. Found her in here when the tides were changing. She had come to die, I guess. She was in rough shape. Put her out of her misery.”

“How kind,” Highblood murmurs. His eyes land on a patch of rock that doesn’t match the rest. “What’s that?”

“That,” Mindfang replies with a smirk. “Is where the water used to come in. It’s how she got in and out. Was able to seal it off during low tide. Took a few times, but with enough cement and metal mesh anything is possible.”

Highblood studies the spot. “How long has it held?”

“A few sweeps, and I daresay it’ll outlast me.” He hears some rustling behind him. “Now why don’t we get the pleasantries out of the way before we get down to business. I know spilling some of your color is a good way to loosen those lips.”

Highblood turns around to find Mindfang sitting on some sort of blanket pile. The blankets look old and worn, but soft, and Highblood smirks.

“What?”

“Glad to see you’re so confident in that motherfucker.” He motions to the plug with his thumb.

Mindfang raises a brow in slight confusion. “Meaning…”

“Meaning I don’t have to worry too much about the bill when I tear this place up.”

“I’m going to leave a scar for that.”

“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” Highblood stops a little ways from her and looks her over. She’s still mostly clothed, though without the jacket on and her boots he can tell that she’s wearing something old. An invitation to rip it off if he’s ever seen one.

“What’s all up and going on with you that you’re just willing to jump right in,” he asks her as he moves away. True, he’s more than ready to pound that nook of hers, but he can also tell something is up. Whatever this thing of theirs is, it’s not easy. Least it never has been. 

Highblood looks over a rug tacked up on the wall. It may have once been nice; there is some good stitching to it, and he can see some sort of old pattern, stripes of purple and all, but it looks like it’s also seen either too much sun or too much salt. Probably both.

“You complaining?” 

Highblood thinks on that. “Yeah, I guess I motherfucking am.”

The compulsion to smack himself hits about as hard as Highblood hits himself. He can feel a bruise bloom along his lower jaw.

“See, there’s the spark I was looking for,” Highblood says. He spits out a little color onto the floor. “Where was that when you first got here?”

She glares at him. 

“Seriously now, what’s going on out on those high seas?” He leans up against the rug he had been admiring. It crackles gently behind his back.

“Do you really want me to go and murky the water with that bullshit?”

“Hey, it's murky already knowing your mind ain’t all here right now.”

“Well aren’t you Mr. Sensitive all of a sudden.” She’s glaring at him, her good eye feeling like the sight of a scope pointed at his thinkpan. 

_’I could make you, you know.’_

“And what fun would that be?” 

She deflates some. “None,” she admits. She leans her head back and sighs deeply. “If we’re really going to do this then go get the bottle out of the pack on the table. Haven’t even been able to talk about this shit with my first mate and they're about as close to a moirail as anything these days.”

“Sounds like we’re both lacking in the pale department.” His words are colder than he means them to be, though losing Redglare still eats at him. He goes to get the bottle.

“It was her or me,” Mindfang replies. “Even if I had known she was sympathetic to the cause I would have had to do it. Sparing her would have been just as much of a death sentence as what I did. Probably saved her from one hell of a questioning if my little stint there was any indication.”

“Right about that.” He pulls out the bottle and paws around inside the bag. “The Condesce doesn’t shit around with possible traitors.” 

“Don’t bother looking for glasses.” 

Highblood stops searching. “Well aren’t we motherfucking classy?” He grins, and she offers something akin to a smile back. 

Highblood takes the few strides between them before settling down next to her. Her body is forced to shift up against him, and while she pulls away for a moment, she ends up flopping back against his broad chest.

“Give it,” she demands and puts out a hand for the bottle. In her hands it looks quite large, and Highblood watches with a smile as she yanks the core out with her teeth and spits it out to the side. She takes a swig that could probably floor at least a few in his ranks.

“So what’s going on that’s got you distracted enough from our little carnival games?”

She snorts. “You and your fucking circus talk.” She takes another pull. Highblood takes the bottle the second it’s free of her lips.

“Better than that nautical shit you’re always spouting.”

Mindfang blinks before Highblood winks at her. He takes a swig and immediately feels a cold fire spill down his throat.

“Was that intentional?”

Highblood shrugs. “Maybe I’m just trying to row with it, sea why you like it so much.”

Mindfang gives a strange little giggle that startles Highblood. “I finally find that funny bone you’ve been hiding?”

“As long as you don’t throw any fish shit in there, and give me another swig, you might find a little more.”

“Ain’t nothing funny about whatever’s going on in that pan of yours.” Highblood doesn’t hand over the bottle.

She sighs. “You really have a one-track mind, don’t you.”

“You got me curious, and I don’t let go of things that make me curious.”

“That mean the rumor about you trying to keep the Signless longer than Condy wanted is true?”

“You tell me yours I’ll tell you mine.” He takes a drink and then gives her back the bottle. 

Mindfang looks down at the dark glass for a few moments before heaving a sigh. “Fuck it, not like I haven’t sold myself out already.”

“This mean you’re about to up and tell me why we got you flip-flopping on your sides?”

“Guess so.” She takes one more swig. Mindfang sits silently for a moment and stares at her patchwork of concrete in the natural stone. “I don’t know how much longer I can play red with that winged bastard,” she bites out. “Every time he touches me my skin crawls.”

“Summoner?”

“Not playing red with anyone else, am I?” She takes a smaller swig this time and curls up some. “He doesn’t want change at all; he just wants to flip everything on its head and make the lowbloods the slave drivers instead of the other way around. When I first met him, he wanted change, real change, not this antagonistic eye-for-an-eye bullshit he’s doing now.”

“Looks like you're the only one losing eyes.”

“And more than that,” she murmurs. Highblood feels a little spark of fear somewhere in her, buried down deep. He goes to press at it, figure out what it is, and immediately hisses as her metal arm clamps down on his wrist.

“Don’t,” she tells him before she lets go. “I’ve been a good girl and left your pan mostly intact. I would ask you to show me the same courtesy.”

Highblood grunts as he rubs his wrist. “Fair trade I guess.”

“More than fair.” She stares at the bottle. “I could warp that mind of yours more than you could believe.”

“Then why haven’t you used that brain of yours on Summoner then?” He thinks it a valid question, and by the way Mindfang seems to tense, he’s sure she’s got a valid answer.

“Because if any of the lowbloods even suspected it, then I’d be fighting off a horde so large that even my mind might not stretch far enough.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the bottle in her grip bumping into Highblood. He takes it from her.

“Plus I’d just be fueling the fire. ‘Highblood’s can’t be trusted. They should all be culled,’” she says in mock outrage. “I put my brain in his for anything but pailing, and they’ll have me strung up quicker than they strung up Redglare.” She pauses. 

Tension hangs between them as she sits with crossed arms and hunched. She’s barely touching him now, and after the Redglare comment, he’s a bit happy about it.

“She kicked my ass, you know?”

Highblood stays silent.

“I misjudged her by a hell of a lot. Came in and took my ass out quicker than I ever thought possible. God damn tempest she was.” Mindfang seems to droop a little. “Ta be honest, I think I would have gotten along pretty damn well with her.”

“Maybe black,” Highblood replies. 

Mindfang nods. “Yeah, maybe black.”

“Why’d you have me kill your black?” 

Mindfang’s head whips around so fast Highblood almost laughs at how comedic it seems. He doesn’t, though. It’s hard to laugh when he’s got memories of Redglare in his pan.

They hold each other's eyes for a moment before she turns back around. “Tale for another time,” she tells him. “Now, I’ve told you mine, your turn. You really try to push back the Signless’s death date?”

Highblood does his best to keep his tension covered with a drink from the bottle. He doubts it does much to throw her off the scent. He can feel her mind like a small pressure whenever she’s around; like she can never entirely turn off those pan-waves of hers. 

“Color like that shouldn’t be wasted,” he finally says.

She scoffs. “Yeah, figured it was something like that. You and your mosaic behind that throne of yours.”

“Not like that,” Highblood responds. Mindfang turns towards him, and he finds there is real interest on her face. Not like how she looks when they swap information, but like she wants to actually know what his pan’s thought process had been.

“See, if our Imperious Condescension’s color only comes through every few generations, then what about his?” Highblood stares off into the dark ceiling of the cave. “Never did sit right with me. When the right of ruler goes down between the current and next Fushia, we can’t get involved. But that motherfucker, blood so bright it didn’t have a drop of motherfucking blue mixed into it...Makes a motherfucker wonder if it should have been a one on one that put him down.”

“Soooooooo… you think he could ‘ave been ‘igher then her?” Mindfang fights to keep her words under control, but Highblood can tell that the amount of booze she’s put away so quickly is hitting her hard. 

Highblood shrugs a little. “He could have been at either end. All I know is that after the shit he managed to do he deserved a more righteous death than that shit.”

“And being a Martyr isn’ rightous?”

“Not when you die like club fodder.”

“There’ssssssss a lot of trolls dat would disagree.”

Highblood nods. “An army of them.” Highblood takes the bottle and drinks deep. “If they had Redglare back then to plead his case, then maybe that motherfucker would have gotten the deathmatch he deserved.”

“Nah,” Mindfang replies. “Horrible as it was, I tink he’d rather be a martyr than murderer.”

“Ain’t no murder in battle.”

“Tell that to the dead.” She grabs the bottle and downs another good pull. Highblood quickly takes it back.

“Watch it. Yer gonna grow gills.”

Mindfang laughs and lays back against him. 

They sit in silence for a while, Highblood sipping from the bottle as Mindfang becomes a comfortable pressure on his side. He thinks about Signless. Would he have fought with the Condesce? He takes a few swigs as they sit in companionable silence. 

“You really think he’d wouldn'ave fought?” Highblood finally asks as the bottle dwindles down to almost empty. He doesn’t get a response. Instead, he looks down with drooping eyes to find Mindfang asleep against his side. Her metal hand is thrown over her belly, her head on his chest, and her eyes are closed. He can feel her brain doing something, mind racing, and can feel those nuggets of fear that mean nightmares. 

There is a sudden urge to take a peek at what they may be. Some collateral to throw at her if she ever does flip back on him and this is just one big trap.

Instead, the Highblood downs the bottle and gets up slowly. Mindfang barely seems to notice as she slides down into the space he had been sitting in, the sopor doing a good job of keeping her senses dulled. Highblood gets up and finds the world trying to tilt. He forces it to stop before stripping clothes off as he goes across the room. The cap of the recuperacoon comes off with an airtight pop and reveals a decent grade of sopor inside. He can also tell it’s bigger than he originally thought.

“Brought more than just me down here, huh?” he asks her sleeping form. She, of course, doesn’t respond. He chuckles. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles as he lumbers over to Mindfang. He bends down and pulls off her boots with gentle jerks of his hands before he lifts her easily and heads to the recuperacoon. It’s a bit precarious climbing in, but he manages.

For a moment, he debates taking off a few articles of clothing before setting her down with him; then he smiles and sets her in fully clothed. He’s got to do at least one dick move. He’s not red for her after all. 

_”Then why even bring her in with me?”_ he asks himself. _”Why’d you listen?”_

Highblood decides to let the booze take over before that thought reaches any part of his pan that can even be considered cognizant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will start to get a little spicy. Thank you for reading!


	5. Hard and Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found time to do more editing! I hope to get more chapters up soon as well. Enjoy the chapter!

_7th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dark Season Equinox_

_That motherfucker is going to drive me insane if he doesn’t stop this shit soon. He fucking REFUSES to swap information until we have our time together, and for that, he has to catch me off guard. Ha. Like that’s likely._

Mindfang glances up from the journal, eyes tracing the room. Highblood had gone up top to watch the sunrise a while ago, and her ears strain as she listens for his horns scraping the ceiling. There is nothing; no shift, no scuttle, and her eyes drop back to the page.

_We’ll run out of time if he wants to keep this shit up. It’ll take at least a perigee to get back to the ship, two if the clouds mean anything, which only gives us one, maybe two perigees to get this shit done. I do NOT want Moyrah turning around and heading down the cape. Last thing I need is the crew learning my new spade is a fucking Highblood. That would go over great with the crew; a mutiny for the books._

She scrubs at her face. Even though she knows there isn’t a drop of slime left, she blames it for the electricity she’s felt on her skin since Highblood’s promise. The entire time she had been bathing in the rainwater tubs she had set up sweeps ago, she had stared him down, only looking away when he was scrubbing the slime from his own skin. That had only been long enough to tug her clothing on. She had continued to stare him down, though he had just started to hum in that infuriatingly deep voice as he cleaned the slime from the tips of his hair.

_Still. I’ll need to get him to realize this is fucking idiotic soon. We’ve got too much to discuss, too many plans to show off, and I can’t risk Summoner finding us. Bastard could already be combing some shore somewhere looking for me, using his pesky little pets to catch my scent. I fucking hate it when he does that. If I don’t want to be found then by the sea, I will STAY hidden. If it didn’t piss him off so much, I’d snap the necks of those furry little things he sends to-”_

The fingers wrap around her neck with such quickness that Mindfang’s brain takes a second to figure out what is happening. The rage she had felt bubbling in her belly starts to boil as fear floods through her senses.

“Damn,” Highblood murmurs behind her. “And here I thought you’d last at least a day.”

Mindfang opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a high whine of fear as horror slithers through her skin. Immediately her brain tries to kick in and take over, to push him away.

“Giving in already? Thought you were tougher than that.” His hand starts to slip, the voodoos loosen, and Mindfang snaps her brain back without a thought. Wait, the fuck is she doing?

“There we go.” The sweet cyanide is back in his voice and helps still her thoughts. “I knew you could take more than just a little choking.” He squeezes a tad, makes her gasp, and then lifts. “Now, like I said before,” Highblood murmurs. “We cross a line you tell me, but until then,” he suddenly shifts his hand to the back of her neck and forces her head down. “You be a good little lowblooded bitch for me.”

Her blood-pusher thuds inside her thorax. What had he just called her? Never has she been called a lowblood; midblood maybe, but never lower. It makes her teeth clench, and her hands ball into fists. The highblood must feel her anger spike because he sends a new wave of fear singing through her body. It feels like the bite of a thousand sand fleas, forcing her brain to produce endorphins in retaliation to the imaginary pain. As soon as it does, the pain slips away, as if it were never there, and truthfully it hadn’t been. The fear, the pain, was just a trick, and her brain fell for it hook line and sinker.

“Never thought I’d get ya with a few insects crawling on ya. Feel like you’d be above that, seeing as you’re the queen spider bitch.” His hand tightens, threatening the integrity of her spine. The pressure makes a vertebre give a slight pop, and while the strength he demonstrates is horrifying, the pop in her neck is pleasurable, sending confused misfires through her. 

“I like seeing you like this; can’t up and keep that a secret.” He pushes his other hand up between her thighs, which she attempts to shut as images and feelings of claws and things pressing passed her thighs filter into her skull. Beneath them, she can feel his actual hand, moving in gentle circles against her sheathing. 

“I don’t like this obscuring the view, though.” His actual claws catch on her skin this time as he grabs the loose fabric around her lower body, twists, and jerks it off of her. Her hands scramble on the table, trying to find purchase as her legs are forced back and up. His hand keeps her upper body pinned. The cloth comes away with a harsh tug, tearing along her hips and thighs before he tosses the fabric aside.

“There we go,” he coos. “Now I got the best damn view in the hive.”

A promise of pain and dark, searing pleasure strikes through her brain as his claw slips against her plating, pressing it to the side, and forcing it apart. She gives a high whine in response, her mind thrumming in fear as she tries to decide if she should make him stop. He would, or at least she prays he would. 

_‘I can play,’_ she tells herself. _‘I can take whatever he dishes out.’_

A scream rips through her without her mind even acknowledging it. The fear that burns through her body is primal, sending adrenaline shooting into her blood.

“Think you need to up and stop that thinking there, Spinnerette,” Highblood murmurs behind her. “Don’t want you gettin' any ideas.”

One of his fingers works inside of her. As soon as it slips inside, her brain gives up on thinking. His fingers are large, thick, and even just one sends her lower body thrumming. Highblood starts gently, massaging against her nook’s outer lips and moving in circles inward. The stimulation has genetic material slicking her up on instinct, even if her bulges are trying to push the finger out of her. Her hands try to move back as well, coming off the table, but Highblood moves her sharply by the neck, throwing her off balance. Without her hands gripping the table, she starts to fall over, choking herself in his fist. She slaps them down quickly, gasping. It becomes clear that her bulges are the only thing she can use against him, and she does her damndest.

_’Not going to be that easy,’_ she thinks to herself. _’You’re a damn fool if you think I would be.’_ She only halfway sends the thought to him. It’s hard to keep her brain straight as he works to stretch her body open. Mindfang gasps as he suddenly pushes up to the last knuckle, his hand barely hindered by her multiple bulges pushing at him.

Her gasp is held back in her throat by his hand, his fingers pushing deep into the meat of her neck. Not enough to cut off her air, but it sure as hell isn’t gentle. Her breathing comes in short, wheezing gasps as his finger starts to pulse and swirl inside of her. There is tearing, burning, the feeling of him slicing through her, and then nothing but warm pulses from the flesh that he had tricked into thinking it was damaged. It swells despite there being no wound, and Mindfang finds her nook as sensitive as it would be after a rather rough session. Her body fights to decide if it should clench around the intrusion, push it out, or open up to allow it to glide through without pain. The fear in her mind doesn’t give her much of a choice as she clenches.

“Going to get that nook of yours tighter than a kraken’s grip,” Highblood jokes. “See if it can snap my mast.”

She chokes a slight laugh that turns moan. Jokes? Really? Now? The clown never did know when to stop, but having him say something so ridiculous while he is holding her to the table makes her head swim. The finger inside her slides out, and she prepares for his bulge, but it doesn’t come, instead, she is jerked backward.

Her body slams back into the chair, the hand still around her throat, and she feels like she is seeing stars. Everything in her is tingling; pins and needles that start around her sinus cavity and spread down to her toes. 

“Now keep that pretty mouth open,” Highblood murmurs. Their height difference is very apparent like this, and Mindfang finds herself at groin level with the other troll. The hand that was on her throat slides into her hair and jerks her head up. Highblood's pants are pulled down around his thighs; low enough for his bulge to slip out and press against her cheek.

Mindfang lifts a hand to slap it away, her metal hand digging into Highblood’s hip. She has no issue with going rough. None at all, and now that she can breathe, she can fight back.

Except she can’t breathe. She’s screaming. High, shrill sounds as her mind spins in fear of something that doesn’t actually exist. Her jaw and throat ache from the cries and then even more as Highblood’s thumb hooks into her jaw.

“Remember,” he chuckles. “Mind over matter.”

It’s a reminder, in a way, that she can stop this if she really wants. But stopping would be losing, and she does not lose. If showing this purple blooded bastard that she can take whatever he can dish out is what it takes to win, then that’s what she’s going to fucking do. 

“Oh-ho, good to see that didn’t take the fight out of ya.” He tightens the grip in her hair. “Now how about we see if that mouth of yours is as devious as the rest of you.” The hold on her lower jaw tightens as his bulge pushes past her lips. It gets back to her tongue before she gags slightly, her jaw attempting to close on him, and he pulls back.

“Aw, and here I thought you’d be able to take more.” He rubs his thumb against the back of her skull, over the sensitive scalp where her hair is still pulled tight. “Don’t worry, as you know, you lowbloods are easily trained.” 

Before she can even start to glare, his bulge pushes in. It doesn’t go fast, but it also does not stop. Her throat constricts as he pushes past the back of her jaw, down her tongue, and into her throat. Mindfang’s eyes water as pain flares through her neck as it is stretched open by his girth. Both of her hands grab at his hips, her mouth tries to close against his grip, but he keeps pressing. Her fingers pull rivulets of blood from his hips as she fights her own mind.

_’Calm down, you can take him you can- I’M GOING TO DIE! HE’S GOING TO CHOKE ME! STOP STO- I can fucking do this just relax, he won’t kill- I DON’T KNOW THAT, HE’S THE ENEMY, HE’S-’_

The gasp of air sends her mind reeling. Her entire throat aches.

“Hmmm, maybe that’s a little too much.” He taps a finger against the side of her neck, her jaw still open. “Now there’s an idea.” She barely hears the words as she tries to pull herself back together. Almost immediately, her body is jerk upwards by her hair, and Mindfang stumbles along as the hand on her hair, and one on her arm, steer her towards the pile. 

“If you’re thoat can’t take it all, then I’ve got an idea that’ll work for us both, and keep those claws off me.” 

She can’t respond, her throat trying to gulp in air and swallow down what is left in her mouth. Mindfang does grip tight at Highblood’s wrist, though, the claws cutting in deep. 

“Down ya go.” He shoves her unexpectedly, though there is little pain as she hits the pile. The movement disorients her. Mindfang thrashes as she tries to figure out which way to look, where he’s coming from, but a pulse of fear and fast hands keep her from figuring it out.

The pressure of his knees on her arms should hurt, the length of his shin pushing her arms into the soft pile, but the pile takes most of the pressure, and from the angle, she has a feeling he might be sitting back on his heels. Not that she cares about that; Mindfang is much more preoccupied with the fact that he is tearing open her shirt, exposing her chest, and his bulge is still out and ready.

“Alright, darlin,” he says as he sits back on her belly. It takes some of the wind out of her, but she can still breathe. “Let’s try these on for sizes.” His now free hands push her breasts together, kneading them between his palms, and holds them together.

“W-what-” she coughs some before she can get the actual question out, though her answer comes quite quickly. Cool slickness pushes up between her breasts, which provide some amount of resistance at how squeezed together they are before the tip spreads them apart and slips through. The sensation isn’t particularly painful, in fact, it’s somewhat pleasurable, but she knows where that bulge is heading.

Quickly she shuts her mouth. Immediately she opens it again as she has the ghostly sensation of knives in her sides. 

“Come on,” Highblood murmurs. “You be good and I’ll make you feel good. You know I keep my word, Mindfang.” 

_’Bastard,’_ she snarls in her head. But she knows he’s not lying either.

His bulge paints over her bottom lip, and while she bares her teeth at him at first, she finally opens her jaw. 

“Watch your teeth, or you’ll be feelin more than specters in your skin,” he warns before his bulge slides inside her mouth. There is much less of it now, only a few inches, and it’s actually somewhat comfortable. Her jaw isn’t as stretched, she can pull her head back to keep from choking, and the little sigh he makes is somewhat enjoyable. She glares up at him before giving a harsh suck, no teeth, and he gasps. 

“Damn, there we go,” he pants as his bulge wiggles between her breasts and against her tongue. “Knew you might like this better.”

She gives a nip to his tip, not enough to hurt, but enough to tease him. A shudder runs up her spine, like a herd of spiders making their way to her brain, but it dissipates before it can get there. Highblood’s bulge slides in a little more, her lips starting to move with his bulge. Her stomach feels sticky from his nook, and a want to fit her fingers inside comes to mind. But her hands are pinned, her mouth is full, and she will not use her mind. She’s pretty sure using it for even that would end whatever this is, even if she were only asking a question.

So she works his bulge, tongue moving and lips pursing and sucking against it. Now and again he goes a little too deep, and she’ll feel her throat constrict, but with her working with him now, there is little to no discomfort. 

“Mindfang,” he grits, the hands on her tits tightening slightly. The claws press but don’t break flesh. His bulge is starting to thrash against her skin and in her mouth. Mindfang moves her head quicker, tongue doing all it can to stimulate what it can reach. “Fuck, I-”

Her eyes go wide as something starts to fill her mouth. At first, she tries to pull back, but Highblood follows her head, one hand holding her in place. She is forced to swallow once, then twice, by the third time she feels like she might choke. He gets the message because he pulls out, but he doesn’t stop. His genetic material paints over her chin and cheeks, over her neck, and drips down onto the pile below.

Mindfang pants as he keeps cumming, his bulge rubbing against her upper chest until it too is covered in purple. Against her belly, Mindfang can feel his nook dribble genetic fluid onto her.

“Damn if you don’t make a pretty picture,” he murmurs and rubs his thumb over her cheek. She quickly nips at him, unable to voice anything yet. Her throat feels too tight as she tries to swallow against the stickiness that clings to it.

“Oh, still got some fight?” He licks his lips, “Let me see if I can’t all up and make you a bit more agreeable.”

Mindfang gives a small sneer at him, but he gets off her arms, which releases some of the tension in her. Her flesh and blood arm tingles from her shoulder socket to her fingers, as her blood returns. She tries to lift it, finds it almost painful from the pins and needles that spread, and lets it fall. 

Highblood moves down her body, and she waits for the pressure of his bulge between her thighs. Not that he’s going to be able to do much with it. Dumb fucker spent it all on- Oh.

“Ahhh-” she quickly tries to suck back in the soft cry, but fails. His fingers are gentle in a way she’s never felt from him as they tangle between her bulges, playing with them and the outer folds of her nook. 

“Aw, come on now.” He gives a pulse up her spine of fear while twisting his fingers with her bulges to pull another cry from her. “I want to keep hearing that.”

“Give me s-something to scream about then.” She is able — _allowed_ — to say the whole sentence before Highblood suddenly drops. His upper body sinks into the pile, the rest of him on the floor, and he moves his head between Mindfang’s legs. His hands push her thighs outwards, getting them up and over his broad shoulders while his tongue takes over where his fingers had left off. 

Mindfang chokes back a gasp as he pays more attention to the smaller of her bulges, and sucks them into his mouth; his nose bumps against the base of the larger. She doesn’t stop them from tangling into the hair that falls in front of his eyes, gasping as his tongue slides out between the smaller bulges and into her nook. The two smaller sets slide into the corners of his mouth, thrashing against the tongue that gently presses in and then drags back against them.

When his hands loop around her thighs to add some friction to her longer bulges, Mindfang stops trying to hold back her cries.

Her smaller bulges are so very sensitive, but they usually only get skimmed during pailing. They are too short to usually make it into her partner’s nook, only being able to tangle around the bulge inside her. But this, Highbloods mouth opened to them, allowing them to explore while his tongue writhes and laps within her; it's unlike anything she’s done before. Even back at their happiest, Summoner had only cared about the larger, leaving the others to the wayside. 

Highblood gives a slight jerk to the bulges he holds, not hard, but enough to get her to cry out again. Her hands clench, and it takes her a moment to realize that she has her fists buried in his mane of hair. The curl of his lips against her nook tell her he is smiling, at least subliminally, because there isn’t much thinking going on in her head.

“Yes, yes yes, more, H-” she tries to choke off his name. He spurs her on with a hard suck to the outside of her nook and to her smaller four bulges. “Highblood!”

He groans against her, the vibration going through her bulges, up his tongue and into her. His fingers twirl with her bulges, stroking them.

“Highblood,” she says again. His tongue spirals inside her and pushes against her bulges. Her body arches and his mouth moves with it. “Ah-ah!” His mouth keeps moving, and her mouth produces his name over, and over, and over as he keeps working her. His tongue thrusts faster, his fingers thrust quicker, and he pushes his lips as flush over the base of her bulges as possible, allowing them to slide down near the back of his tongue. 

_’Scream for me, Spinnerette.’_ The words are shrouded in the fear of falling into oblivion. Mindfang opens her mouth in an almost inaudible cry as she follows them down into a dark that is more ecstasy than excruciating. She can feel her genetic material paint the undersides of her wrists as she twists her hands tight in the Highblood’s hair, her thighs shake as his tongue coaxes her color into his mouth, and her body rides wave after wave of pleasure before it goes out with the tide of the Highblood’s tongue and leaves nothing but a pool of sated warmth deep in her belly. 

Mindfang gasps for air as Highblood gently untangles her thighs from around his neck. When had she done that? She doesn’t remember clenching her legs around his head, but it had happened, she can tell that much by how sore they are when he lays them back down; the muscles tight. 

Highblood pushes up and over her body, face dripping blue as he lays himself gently over her with a smirk.

“How is it to give someone control, my Dreamweaver.” 

Mindfang gives a little laugh that is more breath than sound. “I can’t tell if I want to punch you or kiss you right now,” she tells him as she runs a hand through his hair.

“You doing alright then?” He gently touches her throat. “Didn’t go too hard on that?”

She swallows and feels a slight, unpleasant burn. Her mouth stays shut.

“Come on, gotta tell me if it was too much or I won’t know for next time.”

Mindfang scoffs. “Like I’ll let you have a next time.”

“Admit it; you like painting me with your color.”

“And I could make you submit to that at any time,” she replies curtly. 

“Wouldn’t be as fun though, would it.”

Mindfang pauses.

“Didn’t have to think for a motherfucking second, did you? Just had to go with it and I went with that body of yours every step of the way. It did all the talkin, not that noggin of yours.” He taps gently at her temple. She waves his hand away but stays quiet. 

_’Damn,’_ is all she can think as her mind runs through it all. It had been horrible, demeaning, even a little painful but… There had been an exhilaration to it she’d never felt before; a loss that had spiraled into something that scared her and left her screaming the perpetrator's name. He’d left her throat when she had shown to have issues, changed the position, and then gave her pleasure. It was almost--

_’We’re not going there,’_ she quickly tells herself.

“Come on there, Dreamweaver.”

_’That name again. What is that?’_

“Do I need to make you stop thinking again so soon?” He pushes a sticky kiss to her equally sticky left breast.

She clears her throat. “The throat, at the beginning, was a little much,” she finally says.

“And the rest?” He has a grin, a hopeful one, and it makes her blood-pusher jerk a little. 

With a sigh, she stares at the ceiling. “Wonderful,” she grumbles. Mindfang then looks down at him, hands tilting his head. “You aren’t hiding a set of gills from me, are you?” 

He laughs, deep and pleasant, and Mindfang finds herself smiling. She doesn’t plan on pulling him up for a kiss or to enjoy tasting herself on his tongue, but she does. She does, and she likes the weight of him. It’s an even pressure over her body, shielding her, making her feel-

_’Safe.’_

They pause at the same time. They separate slowly, their eyes unwavering from one another's. 

“Your mind trying to tell me somethin?”

His gaze is steady, his voodoos subdued, and Mindfang does her best to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat.

“We should bathe,” she finally manages, breaking the eye contact. She doesn’t expect the sigh he gives, and apparently, he doesn’t either because he doesn’t meet her eyes when they stand. 

“We didn't leave a lot of rain in those barrels of yours. Think it'll be enough?" he asks.

"There's a rainfed inland stream just north of here,” she replies. The need to cover herself suddenly hits, not out of fear, but out of a strange embarrassment.

_’Get ahold of yourself, you're not a wriggler.’_

She is surprised when Highblood’s jacket drops around her shoulders.

“Lead the way, captain.” His voice holds a gentle tone of what she wants to call pantomime, but in reality, she thinks it might be closer to another p-word of a redder variety.

“This way.” She heads for the exit, and this time, she waits for the Highblood to grab a few things as they head out of the cave and into the growing night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/leticheecopae) and [Tumblr](http://leticheecopae.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Touch and Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I finally had time to sit down and finish the edits for this chapter! Hope to have the rest follow shortly, but every time I say that it seems like the clock speeds up.
> 
> Enjoy! And as always, if you see anything feel free to let me know!

_She called me safe. Didn’t mean to, but she did. Heard it clear as a bell from her own skull while we were all up and bathing in that miraculous afterglow. Out of all the words I expected after tongue fucking her it wasn’t ‘safe’._

Highblood looks up from his perch just outside of the river. Mindfang is still in the water, his purple long since rinsed away and carried down the current and out to sea. Still, she stays in the current, letting it ripple around her as she sits in the shallows with it up to her shoulders.

 _Still can’t believe she let me do what I did. Never thought I’d be able to get her to submit to anything. But motherfucker. If I don’t get to do that again, I may just die. She tried so hard to keep on top, even when she knew she was beat, and then she just let me in. That pan of hers broke down, and she let me and the fear take her. Never thought I’d feel so much in her, but it’s there, below the surface, and it’s so damn_ real _. Summoner, the trolls under her, bits and pieces flittin through my head-piece and then I got them to all just leave. And when they did, I mean damn, she was fine. More than fine, she was miraculous. Every touch, every sound, she reacted and--_

“What are you doing?” Mindfang is still partially in the water, letting her body float in it while her hands pull her along. Highblood looks at the swell of her backside as it peeks out of the water, and smiles as he closes the book.

“Want to get all those details of you out of my skull and on paper before they get dim and I think I dreamed it all.” 

Mindfang scoffs at him. “You’re kidding, right? You journal?”

“Hey, gotta have someplace I can speak my mind.” He shakes the little book before slipping it next to Mindfang’s dry towel.

“You really are full of surprises.” Mindfang shakes her head, her long, wet hair dragging in the water’s current. 

Highblood can’t help but feel his mouth split into a smile. 

“Think that’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given me there, Spinnerette. Watch it, might think you’re getting red on me.”

She looks a bit taken aback, and Highblood even feels himself pause. Had he really just said that? He does his best to ignore the slight warmth that tries to touch his cheeks, but it’s hard to do when he sees Mindfang attempting to do the same. It’s just the lightest dusting of blue, but damn if it ain’t cute on her.

She clears her throat before flopping into the water, only her backside and the top of her head viewable. Highblood watches with a smirk as she stays down. 

“And you said I had gills, but I think--” He doesn’t get a chance to finish as she suddenly stands, whipping her head back so that her hair causes a large amount of water to arc through the air at him, and douses him from groin to face.

“Oh— you did not just do that.”

“Do what?” she asks, feigning innocence. 

He grins at her as he stands. 

“Come here you.” Highblood lumbers into the water after her as Mindfang gives a laugh and performs a shallow dive into the current. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her, grabbing her foot and pulling her back. She shrieks with laughter as he pulls her to him, the two in the deeper section of the river. The water comes up to his chest here, would almost cover her head, and he finds it easy to lift her into the air and then toss her out a little ways, where the water is still deep.

Her scream is lovely; full of glee and false fear that makes his chest feel tight. 

_”Down”._ He hears in his head, and Highblood finds himself suddenly sitting beneath the water. Mindfang floats in front of him, a grin on her face. She looks almost like a crocigator down here, her teeth on display. Highblood reaches for her without a thought, pulls her to him beneath the current, and kisses her. She wraps her hands behind his head, pulls closer, and wraps her legs around his chest. He holds her tight, pushing them together as water wraps around them, blocking out sound and allowing only tendrils of moonlight to filter down.

 _”Could stay here forever,”_ he thinks to himself as he moves his mouth against her’s; bubbles tickling his face as they escape both out both his and her mouths. She pulls back, and he tries to bring her down.

 _”Air.”_ The word echoes in his head. Not a command, just a fact, and he lets her go and then follows her up. He stands easily, chest barely tight as she takes in a few deep gasps before breathing normally. 

“You never did answer my gill question.”

Highblood laughs. “Guess you’ll have to go searching for that answer now won’t ya?”

Mindfang shakes her head. “You’re insufferable.” She starts heading toward the river bank.

“You’ve been happy to suffer through me it seems,” he says as he follows, plucking her out of the water and carrying her bridal style as he takes easy strides through the current. She squirms for just a moment before laughing.

“Must be all the adrenaline you keep pumping into me.”

“Can keep pumping something else.” He gives her a squeeze.

“Work first; then we can talk about round two.” 

“Ready to submit again so quickly?” he asks as he sets her down.

Mindfang looks up at him with a smirk before raising a hand and pointing down. His knees hit the dirt before he can realize what is happening. She leans down with a smile as Highblood finds himself unable to do much more than raise his chin at her in defiance. It's not all that defiant, though, not with the smirk he’s wearing. He does his best not to shudder as she drags a finger down his jawline.

“I was thinking that you’re the one who needs to learn some actual manners.” 

“Never been good at following orders.”

“Good things you don’t actually have to listen to them to follow.”

Highblood bows his head with his horns on either side of her hips. 

“Guess you take ‘giving over control’ a whole new meaning, huh Dreamweaver.”

She laughs, and Highblood finds himself in control again. “Only if you’ll give it.” She squeezes the base of one of his horns. “Now come on. Let’s get work out of the way. Having Summoner’s idiocy sitting in the back of my head might drive me crazy if we wait much longer.” Mindfang grabs the ragged towel she had brought with her from the rock. 

“Whatever you say.” 

“Whenever _you_ say,” she adds with a nod. “Tit for tat and all that.”

Highblood grins as he climbs out of the water and heads to get his towel. He picks it up and starts to dry off when he realizes that something is missing.

“Spinnerette?” he calls after her. She turns with a grin, and he can see his journal in her hands. Mindfang takes off deftly down the rocky path back to the cave.

“Oh no you don’t,” Highblood growls as he sends a bolt of fear at her. She shrieks, he smiles, and the few bruises he gets from them rolling through the foliage as she plays keep-away are more than worth it when he hears her give a real belly laugh.

\---------------

“That motherfucker can’t actually be this stupid.” The plans that Mindfang has spread out before him are idiotic at the least, suicidal to be realistic. “He wants you to take siege on one of the largest, heavily guarded, work camps with nothing but a few ships and animals?”

She nods, her face stony. There is nothing but business in her eyes, and he can understand why.

“It’ll be a slaughter,” he scoffs.

“I know.” Her fingers curl on the map. “He thinks if we have the element of surprise on our side, we can make it, and that as soon as we free the prisoners that they’ll help take up the revolt. If they don’t, then I’m to _make_ them take up arms.” Rage vibrates in her voice as she stares down at the battle plans. “He wants me to force them to fight to their deaths, me, a _cerulean_. The same blood color that keeps the workers in check when they become unruly.” She stares down at the map, hands clenched, face impossibly smooth despite the rage in her eyes. “He would take everything the Sufferer preached and pervert it just to win a battle. Not even the war, just a battle.”

Highblood’s tongue feels tied as he watches her. She is a quiet rage unlike anything he has ever seen. He’s faced her in battle, and hell, she had been scary then; quick attacks, precise stabs, but this is more horrifying than that. Quiet rage is not something found in most Highbloods, himself included. When he is angry, when his troops are angry, it shows on their faces. Mindfang’s is in her posture, the set of her shoulders, and the blue of her eyes. It radiates off of her in a suffocating cloud that prickles the hair on his neck. 

“So, captain,” he asks as he covers her hand with his own. “How do we save a few hundred lives from your Summoner of death?”

Mindfang starts a bit, blinks at him, and lets her face settle into something that he can’t quite call a smile. There is too much rage still, too much sadness, but just a hint of something that makes his blood-pusher stir. 

“That’s captain Aranea to you,” she tells him softly before looking back at the map.

“Aranea?”

“Can’t have you just calling me by my title for the rest of our possibly short lives, can I? I think we’re past the formalities at this point.”

Highblood can’t help but gape at her.

“Now,” she clears her throat. “We’ll be coming in from this part of the harbor, using grappling hooks. I’d rather your men not move until-- Highblood, what are you do--”

“Kurloz,” he says as he pulls her to him. “And you can bet your ass I’m gonna want to hear you moan it next time.” He pushes his face into her neck, his body wrapped around her smaller one.

“Well, Kurloz,” she says as she pulls the map back to them. “I stand by what I said, work first, pleasure later. Though I have to admit you’re a more comfortable seat than the stuff I dragged down here all those sweeps ago.” 

He wants to make a joke about having an even better seat for her but swallows it down. She’s right. Time is ticking, and they have planning to do. The quicker that’s done, the quicker they can get on with whatever quadrant flipping they’re dealing with; figure out if they’re even in a quadrant.

He settles his chin between her horns. “You were saying about the cliff face?”

“Right, I believe your men should wait until they crest the top. Keep the death toll down, so they don’t cut the ropes and send dozens falling to their deaths.”

“They’ll wonder why.”

“Tell them you might as well add to the camp while you’re there or something. I’m sure you can come up with a good deception in that twisted think-pan of yours.”

Highblood chuckles. “I’m sure I can.” 

“Now, for this area.” Mindfang points back at the map and starts to explain what is going to happen. Highblood listens intently, watches her fingers, and does his best to pay attention despite the uneasiness that is creeping into his chest when she points to the bay, and he sees the symbol for her ship.

She doesn’t say it aloud when she tells him about the battalion that will be making landfall there, but somehow he knows that she’ll be on the ground with them. His Dreamweaver will be coming into battle, and when she does…

“We’ll deal with it,” she murmurs under her breath.

“Thought you said you’d stay out of my head.”

“Don’t need to be in it to figure out what you’re thinking.” She puts a hand on the back of his; the one resting on her belly.

“We’ve gone and complicated the shit out of this, haven’t we?” he murmurs into her hair.

She laughs. It is a dismal sound in the cave. Highblood’s stomach hits his knees. 

“I think we’re past complicated.”

He kisses her between her horns. They sit for a while, her back against his chest, his nose buried in her hair. 

“We still have three more battalions to go over,” she says gently. 

“I know,” he replies as he holds her a little tighter, eyes looking between her horns and down at the map. He keeps his eyes trained on the mark for her ship. “I know.” 

_”This must be how it feels when I use the voodoos on her,”_ he thinks as his stomach rolls unpleasantly. 

She squeezes the back of his hand and leans forward. “They’ll try and take this armory,” she starts.

Highblood does his best to pay attention; to catch every detail. It’s hard to do when all he wants is to pull her back into the pile of blankets and memorize the taste of her name and the feeling of her breathing body beneath his hands.

\-------------------

_8th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dark Season Equinox_

_Kurloz._

_My enemy has a name, and it is Kurloz. Not that I can call him an enemy anymore. I’m not even sure I can call him an informant; a black fling. Something went out with the tide last day, and I can’t put my finger on it. Could cast a net all along the coast of my mind and nothing could bring it back. I don’t think there is anything I can consider ‘black’ for him anymore. Oh, I’ll still tease him, poke him, but it’s different._

_He’s no longer the insufferable Highblood that I fought on that ship._

_He’s Kurloz, the jokester who likes to cuddle and hold me almost too tight. Almost._

Mindfang looks up from the table, the small oil lamp giving just enough light to outline Highblood’s hulking form in the recuperacoon. He is snoring gently; his head leaned back against the wall of the cave. His arm is still positioned as if cradling her body. She had made sure to keep him asleep. Just because she was restless shouldn’t make him so; best for him to sleep. It feels good to sit in the open air, bare besides the trace amount of sopor the towel missed, and not be doted on. Any more attention and she might go just a bit insane and say something that will make the next battle even harder on them both.

_Might as well be walking the plank with the plan we’ve come up with. If it works, it’ll put a stop to the battle with minimal casualties on both sides. The lowbloods will be captured and put to work, but better work than death, and Kurloz is going to try and let some escape by rigging a faulty jail cell. A head will roll for it, but it sounds like there are a few in his ranks he’d be fine sacrificing to his club. Not everyone who follows his Messiahs practice what they preach, I guess. I just hope he doesn’t get caught. If they found out, I have no doubt he’d be culled, and I don’t know if I can live with that knowledge. Maybe before, but now I_

Mindfang’s hand stops. Her sentence hangs on the page, in her mind, and even though she knows the end of it, she can’t bring herself to ponder it. If everything goes according to plan then the Summoner will die on that battlefield, she’ll take over, and then real change will start. Highblood will slowly start implanting the ideas into the minds of his followers as she goes about destroying the empress without hate clouding her judgment.

 _’But you’re going to die for him.’_ The sight eightfold creeps into her mind, makes her shudder, and she shakes her head.

“Doing okay over there?”

Mindfang jumps a little. Highblood chuckles from across the room. 

“Come back to the ‘coon and relax. You show up all tense like a fishing wire and your people are gonna wonder just what happened out here.”

“They’re already wondering that.” Still, she shuts her book and heads back to him.   
“Mine too,” he murmurs. “Gonna be fun explaining to them why I’m all up and relaxed without any smoke in my lungs.”

“I don’t understand why you smoke that shit.”

“You’re not a voodoo user. Doubt you would.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t tried it.”

Highblood raises a brow at her as she climbs back into the recuperacoon.

“You’ve smoked solarum negros?”

“Once at port. I think I may have driven a few people insane.” She scrunches up her nose as the memory. “Stuff relaxed me too much. Couldn’t keep the reins on my own brain. I just slip into everyone else's. Turned the entire pier into a circus.”

“I like circuses.”

“Uh-uh. Not happening.” She sits back into his lap and reclines against his arm. “Not big on losing my wits.”

“Didn’t mind it yesterday.”

She smacks him gently. “I still had my wits about me. I just handed them over to you. I smoke that stuff, and no one has them.”

“Fair enough,” Highblood replies with a yawn. “Still, I’d love to see you on it.”

“Maybe someday.” She gets comfortable and closes her eyes. “For now, you’ll just have to imagine it.”

“Not sure even I could come up with that.” He shifts a bit, most likely to get comfortable, and then his body presses over her as he leans over. The kiss is light, almost chaste, and it makes her body tingle in a way that is pleasant though not sexual. 

It’s been almost a full sweep since she’s felt it.

“Goodnight, Dreamweaver.”

“You’re going to keep calling me that, aren’t you,” she murmurs as he pulls back.

“Not my fault you’re pulling the threads in my think-pan.”

Mindfang chuckles. “Guess I need to come up with one for you now, huh, Kurloz?”

The name still tastes odd in her mouth, but it’s a good flavor.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” His thumb gently drags over her shoulder.

Mindfang settles against him, the sopor cradling them both in a tepid embrace.

“Maybe I should just call you my Jester.”

He snorts. “That ain’t motherfucking flattering.”

“But you make me laugh.” She keeps her eyes closed. Mindfang doesn’t need to see his look of shock; she feels it roll off of him; feels the smile that follows. She doesn’t probe his mind, but she feels the wheels in his brain turn as he looks for something to say.

“Go to sleep, Kurloz,” she murmurs, “We both have long trips ahead of us tomorrow.”

Her response is a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you say, Aranea.”

Mindfang falls asleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come poke me over on my Twitters!  
> [NSFW](https://twitter.com/leticheecopae)  
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	7. Hand Over Fist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.

_20th Bilunar Perigee of the 3rd Dark Season Equinox_

_He’s moving up the date. I knew this was a possibility but really? We’re already stretched thin, and he wants to move it up? I was able to tell Kurloz about a few instances where Summoner was planning to try and get more people, rig them for failure to try and possibly dissuade Summoner from this futile attack, but the bastard has instead used his failings as a reason to push forward with the plan._

_It’s going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Hell, not even a barrel, a BUCKET!_

Mindfang takes a swig of the soporific on her desk. She can’t get drunk, not with everything happening, but hell if she doesn’t need something to take the edge off. 

_All sense has left that thinkpan of his. There is_ nothing _left of the troll I was once red for in there. He’s more bloodthirsty than even the Subjugglators, and from the battle stories I’ve swapped with the Highblood, that is saying something, what with battle being a defining factor of their religion. Even then, it has a damn purpose. They don’t just go out and kill to kill; they do it for reasons. I don’t get half of them still, but the only reason they fight like they do is because of the Condesce. She lets them fill up on their need to fight to protect her, and she allows them to keep their faith. I never knew it, but apparently, there have been threats to remove all mention of the Messiahs if Highblood doesn’t stay in line._

_Protect the bitch or lose everything the indigos have built up over the last centisweep._

_No wonder he’s all for helping me. I think he might hate her as much as the rest of us, but if he were even to whisper it, then they’d all go down. Better to stay drugged and angry than think. It seems I’ve made him do a lot of that over the past few sweeps._

_Least if he gets caught, he can claim I was messing around in his skull._

Mindfang finishes her glass before staring down at the page. Her writing is more of a scrawl than a script, and dots of ink are soaking into the parchment where she has pressed too hard.

_Someone is going to die during that battle, and I don’t plan on it being me._

Moyrah’s voice comes through the door, “Captain, we’re almost ready.” 

“I’ll be up shortly.” 

Mindfang looks back at the journal and flips back a few pages. The last line from the 8th still hangs unfinished. She shuts the book and puts it back in its hiding space.

“What’s our bearings?” Mindfang asks as she comes out of her cabin, Moyrah waiting for her.

“About two perigees from the shore. Scouts confirm that the security has been increased two-fold; Subjugglators and Archers included. Feels like they might know we’re coming.”

“Summoner’s hit almost every other camp leading up the coast, of course they do,” she grumbles. “They’d be idiots not to see the pattern.”

“Shouldn’t we pull back then?” Moyrah’s voice stays calm and even despite their question.

“If I had the say to do it, then I would, Moyrah. I trust you not to repeat that, but most are loyal to him, not me, and if I were to say it-”

“Then they would see it as a highblood trying to stop them,” they finish for her.

“Taking the words out of my mouth.” Mindfang rubs at her eyes. “Tell me Moyrah, of our crew, how many do you think would stay back if I told them to?”

“A third,” they reply without hesitation. “The rest would go for friends, even if given the option. Yes, they follow Summoner, but he’s not the one who’s been through the thick of things with them.”

“And you?” Mindfang asks.

“Would you still go on with the plan?”

Mindfang doesn’t reply as she turns and heads toward the stairs that lead up to the night deck.

Moyrah keeps in step. “A captain goes down with the ship,” they finally say quietly as Mindfang goes to leave the common room connected to her quarters. “And a first mate never leaves their captain.”

“And people think we’re black.” Mindfang looks over her shoulder with a smirk.

Moyrah gives a slight smile, the barest twitch at the corner of their mouth. “I’d say more a pinkish-gray.”

“You vying for my pale quadrant there, Moyrah?” Mindfang teases as she pulls open the door.

“Thought I already had it.” Moyrah steps through ahead of her; face forward, shoulders and back straight. They could have been one of the best fleet admirals of the empire, better than Dualscar, but the rust in their blood had condemned them to the life of a pirate. 

Mindfang feels her throat tighten. 

“Call a meeting on deck,” she says as she stays behind, hand still on the door.

Moyrah turns, face impassive, their eyes searching. They give a nod.

Mindfang closes the door to the deck before taking in a shaky breath. 

“A third,” she mutters. “More than none.” 

She waits at the door while she listens to the call for all available hands to come on deck. 

_”Am I really about to do this?”_ she asks herself as she hears the fall of dozens of footsteps on the deck beyond. 

Moyrah’s voice echoes in her mind, _’Shouldn’t we pull back then?’_

If she has to die for Summoner, so be it, but she isn’t going to lead anyone else down the same path.

“Everyone has assembled,” Moyrah calls through the door.

“Open the comms to-”

“All comms on board are opened and awaiting your orders.”

Mindfang closes her eyes and smiles. “Best first mate a captain could have.”

She opens the door and strides past Moyrah before they can respond. It is not time for sentiments; it’s time for action and planning. It is time to save lives.

The small deck outside of her common quarters looks down over the night deck. She is happy it is still well into the night. Doing this below in the stuffy air of the day deck would have made this even worse. The cool night air at least helps her nerves.

Below her stands her crew; trolls from rustblood to blue, though those are far and few between. The eyes that look up at her are mostly rust, brown, and olive. She finds herself unable to meet the reverence that sits inside those colors.

“In two perigees time, we will land at the Glandstra work camps where many of the resistance’s loved ones are held. Some of you may have clutch mates there, friends, quadrants. Some of those who were captured over the last Equinox may even be there. All brave trolls who have been fighting toward the same goal that the Sufferer envisioned all those sweeps ago. And to them, we owe quite a bit.”

There is a small choir of ‘here-heres’ and other exclamations of agreement. Mindfang raises her metal arm to ask for quiet. 

“That being said, our informant has given warning that the patrols have doubled from their original number; Subjugglators included.” 

The deck falls silent. The fight against the Highblood is still fresh to many. Nightmares are commonplace in the bunks.

“This ship is headed for the heart of the bay where we hope to take the lower workers of the camp; the heart of their security barracks.” Her eyes look out over them as a feeling of unease sweeps through the crowd. The murmur of doubts raises from them to whisper around her.

“This crew has been with me through thick and thin, taken more ports than I thought possible, and even gone head to head with the Highblood himself. On that day alone, we had heavy casualties, and I have no doubt we will have them again. And for this reason, I give you a choice.”

Mindfang pauses. Is she really about to do this? If she does, then what? If it works, will they turn her into the Summoner as a possible traitor? Will they mutiny before they even reach land?

 _”One third,”_ she thinks to herself. A drop in the bucket of their population. 

Even a single drop can save someone dying of thirst.

“For one Perigee I will stay in my cabin. I will not exit, I will not look, and I will not pry. I respect you all too much for that.” She nods down at a few of her crew that had lost limbs or appendages after the fight with the Highblood’s troops. “During this time, anyone who has any doubts, any reason to head to shore before the battle, may leave my service with a clean conscience.”

A murmur goes through the crowd.

“Captain?” Moyrah gasps.

“Is this a joke!?” someone calls from the crew.

“No jokes,” Mindfang replies. “I have agreed with the Summoner on many of his plans, but this is not one of them. Our ranks have dwindled due to his poor tactics this past Perigee, and while I do believe in taking the camp, I do not believe now is the time. We’re not ones to run from a challenge, but I would not think of this as running; not even a retreat. This would be tactics, pure and simple. If any fighters out there could raise a crew around them, it is this one, and if this battle goes to the fishes then who would save us? We need a backup.”

Mindfang feels her words thrum with some of them, collide with others, and pushes forward. “I know many of your blood-pushers are already set on a fight, and with those, I will stay. I will not leave my crew to face this without me. My red will be out there, and I will not leave him.” The truth in her words are almost painful, though those on the deck don’t know that she isn’t talking about Summoner. “To those who have quadrants waiting for them somewhere, I urge you to consider this offer. All of the lifeboats, our dinghies, they are at your disposal. If I am to be captured, I trust no one more than my crew. And if I am killed? Well, I know of no other pirates that have ever done as you have, and know that even without me you could do it just as well.”

“We could never do it without you, captain!” comes a cry followed by a cheer from the rest.

Mindfang laughs. “Oh, you’d be hard-pressed I don’t doubt, but there is one I think that could fill my boots.” She looks over her shoulder at Moyrah.

Moyrah’s eyes immediately go wide, their mouth opens. “Don’t-”

“If even one troll wishes to take my offer, Moyrah is to accompany them. When the battle has ended, and the current has calmed, if we are not victorious, Moyrah will take over the helm and lead you to your next victory.”

The shock on Moyrah’s face is almost laughable. Never has Mindfang gotten this much of a reaction out of them. She would smile if she didn’t feel the possibility of tears behind her good eye. 

“I won’t-”

 _’Please.’_ Mindfang sends the thought at them, strong and with only a hint of the pleading she feels. _’If not as my first mate, then as my moirail, do this for me.’_

Moyrah’s mouth snaps shut. Their body tenses before they pull themself back into a stance of pride. 

“May it be known I take this duty with a heavy pusher, as there are many in the camp that I would wish to fight for,” Moyrah calls. “But I also take this duty with pride. It has been an honor to fight at your side, Mindfang, and to know you trust me enough to fight on your behalf, should you fall, is an honor.”

 _’Damn you for this.’_ Moyrah’s thought is loud and clear. _’You know we would have followed you to the ends of the universe.’_

_”But I will not have you follow me to my grave.”_

Mindfang turns back to her crew, her soul lighter but mind heavy. “Whatever you choose, a captain could not wish for a more talented crew. For those who wish to fight in two perigee’s, we will show them what the crew of Mindfang stands for!”

There are cries of agreement from the crew.

“And to those who stay behind to preserve my name, I thank you. It is not cowardice, it is not disrespectful, and if a single troll stays aboard this ship that has even a flicker of doubt in their mind, I will find it, and I will treat them as if they had committed mutiny.”

The spike of anxiety that comes from the crew makes her ache.

“That is all.”

She turns from the rail and heads back into her quarters. Outside there is silence.

“You heard the captain. Go reflect on what you want to do. I’ll begin prep at daybreak. If anyone comes forward, we leave at this time tomorrow night.”

Mindfang barely hears the murmur of her crew before Moyrah shuts the door behind them.

“What the hell was _that_ ,” they hiss.

“Probably the most selfless thing I’ve ever done,” Mindfang replies. She looks down at the map.

“More like the most insane thing! You realize that half the crew is going to leave based on you threatening to cull anyone with doubts! Without them there--”

“Without them there, the rebellion will survive,” Mindfang interrupts. “I’m not walking away from this one, Moyrah. And if I die, then Summoner will need troops.”

“Fuck, Summoner!”

Mindfang jolts in surprise as she turns to look at her first mate.

“He’s been running us to our deaths for sweeps now. Plenty have noticed, I know you have, but we can’t do anything about it. Either we turn into Highblood loving parasites or are deemed brainwashed.” Moyrah practically stomps over to Mindfang. “Yet you’re the one who’s been sneaking off to make deals to save our people, try and give us a shot during battles, and putting your life at risk with that indigo bastard. I--”

“How do you—” Mindfang’s interruption trails off.

Moyrah stands proud, eyes locked on Mindfang. “I care for this crew as much as you do, and I know you. You haven’t picked up a book on Alternian History in sweeps, so color me surprised when I found the book dustless.”

Mindfang stares at Moyrah for a moment. Their eyes are sharp, cheeks ruddy with color, and Mindfang finds herself unable to hold their gaze. She looks back down at the map, at the plans of attack; the meticulously detailed, perfected, and now worthless plans. She can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in her throat. It starts as a giggle, then a chuckle, before bellowing from her throat as she grasps the map beneath her fingers. She gulps in air only for it to burst out of her as she laughs, her hands twisting into the now useless parchment.

“Captain?” Moyrah’s voice is startled, maybe a little afraid, but Mindfang can’t find much reason to care. All this time, hiding and her first mate knew; hell, they probably would have helped her if tonight had been any indication. 

“Mindfang.” Moyrah spins Mindfang to face them. She keeps laughing, tears trickling from her good eye. Moyrah’s face softens, only by a slight degree, but it’s enough. 

“Aranea,” they say gently, Mindfang’s true name sounds as natural as Captain coming from their mouth. “If you do die on that battlefield, it isn’t for Summoner, no matter what that vision told you. It’s for us; for your crew.”

Her laughter morphs within a single breath. An ugly sob fills Mindfang’s mouth as she sinks to her knees, face pressed into the chest of her first mate. Of her moirail. Hands smooth into her hair, over the base of her horns, and rub circles into her scalp.

“You may be the greatest pirate that ever lived, but by god, you are an idiot.” The tightness in Moyrah’s voice is the closest thing to tears Mindfang has ever heard from them.

“Thin line between idiot and genius,” Mindfang manages as she gulps in air and then stands. “Though I’m far from a genius. I've been undone by dust." She wipes at her eyes, knowing that it is clear they were not caused by dust.

“It only takes a single barnacle to sink a ship,” Moyrah replies.

Mindfang rests a hand on their shoulder. “And you will be that barnicle to the Condesce.”

Moyrah laughs. It’s a barking, rusty sounding one that startles Mindfang. “I have no such delusions of grandeur, Aranea.”

“Then I’ll have them for you.”

“Won’t be worth much if you die.”

Mindfang smiles slightly. “Not worth much with me alive either.”

Moyrah shakes their head. “Infuriating until the end, aye, Captain?”

“Have you ever known me to be anything but?”

Moyrah gives their not-quite smile; the little twitch of their lip. 

“Before you leave, I want you to take my journals with you.”

“What?”

Mindfang squeezes their shoulder. “If I’m killed, I want at least my words to survive along with my crew. Even if my stories never see the light of the moon again, they’ll survive this battle. Will you do that for me?”

Moyrah hesitates for only a moment before giving a curt nod.

 

“Thank you, Moyrah.” Mindfang steps back. “Now I do believe you have some packing to do.”

“Yes, Captain.” They give another nod before turning to the door. 

“And Moyrah,” Mindfang calls as she looks down at the pieces of map scattered on the table. There is a pause, but she knows they are still there. “You deserve a better pale than a salty sea-slug like me.”

A beat of silence and then, “You really are an idiot.” 

The door closes and Mindfang smiles, bitter though it may be, as she heads back to her room. She has journals to pull together and one last entry to write before her possible end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing Moyrah. 
> 
> Come poke me over on my Twitters!  
> [NSFW](https://twitter.com/leticheecopae)  
> [SFW](https://twitter.com/FluffyLeti)


	8. Loose Cannon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close now. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

_Guess everything's going to hell sooner than we thought. Going to be leading my brothers to massacre a bunch of lowblooded fuckers because the winged wanderlust couldn’t keep his rage in his pan. My Dreamweaver managed to send me a mental message just a few hours ago; a heads up so to speak. Not that it mattered. We’ve been tracking her ship for the past day. She asked if we saw the dingy, said they were leaving, her moirail was on the boat. If I’m able to give her any small mercies, it is that I was able to keep the focus on Mindfang. The dingy is still under surveillance, but at least they aren’t cannoning the thing out of the water._

_The others I can’t do a motherfucking thing for. The Condesce learned about them before I did and already gave the order. Slaughter them, only the strongest will be taken as hostages, and even then that’s just so she can do a public execution of those poor bastards. Usually, I’m all up and ready for a bloodbath, but there isn’t going to be any even footing going on with this bullshit. They’re going to hit the coast, and we’re going to drown them in their own blood. Can’t fight a direct order. I do that and good chance my head’ll be on the chopping block right next to that winged motherfucker._

_Least Dreamweaver isn’t bitching about it. She gets it. We both get it. I just told her to stay well away from my area. Can’t be letting her go. Red or not, we see each other on that battlefield, and one of us is dying. Like that fucking Shaketrollian story about Rowmeo and Juliet. Two highblood castes that couldn’t ever get the fuck together because of some bullshit like we’re dealing with now. Guess that olive blooded fucker might have had some future sight or something because fuck if I don’t feel like I’m plopped down right in the middle of that story._

_If this brawl with Summoner leads to me killing Mindfang tomorrow, there won’t be a force anywhere that will keep me for painting my chair with his blood and mounting his skull over the top. If it’s the other way around, then all I can hope is that Mindfang gets the fuck out of there. Don’t want her meeting up with me in the corpse carnival for a long time._

Highblood looks down at his little book and sighs. Fifty types of blasphemy on one page towards the bitch he’s supposed to serve. The Messiahs are probably laughing at him right now; debating on if he’s an idiot for going red for someone who doesn’t even believe in them, or if he’s a fucking blasphemer for it. 

“Highblood?”

He looks up to find Rebver standing in the doorway, horns poking through even if his head isn’t. 

“What’s up, brother?” 

Rebver comes into the room and stands tall before the Highblood. His paint is pristine, the lines still straight and reflecting someone who is still getting used to putting it on. The older the subjugulator, the messier the paint. Least, that’s how it is with most, and with himself. Oh, he’ll sharpen it up on prayin days, but any other time it’s a waste of paint. There’s just too much of a chance that he’s going to get it all bloodied anyway. 

“A letter from the Condease, Highblood,” he replies and hands over a little pad. The tech is nice, easy to read, encrypted, and a literal bomb if touched by hands warmer than a navy-blood. He looks over the data as Rebver stands in front of him, slouching slightly as so many with horns his size do.

“This a motherfuckin joke?”

The pulse of voodoos ripple down his arms and spine, spinning into the room and down the halls. He feels pangs from others, creating a chain that spreads far beyond himself.

“Not much of a punchline if it is, Highblood,” Rebver replies. “She wants us all up and ready to bring down a pin on the lowbloods, workers and all. Says they aren’t—”

“Aren’t worth the gruel we feed ‘em, yeah I can read that,” he snaps and tosses the pad. Rebver has to bat the thing into the air to keep it from going past him, turning it into a juggling act. Highblood hits him with a shock of voodoos hard enough to make him stumble back while the pad is still high. It hits the floor with a heavy thud and a crunch.

Rebver stands with fists at his sides and head down, staring at the pad. Highblood can see his nose flare with each deep breath as he tries to pull himself back together.

Highblood sighs. “Fuck, my brother, that was all sorts of wicked to pull on you. Not your headpiece deciding on this shit.”

With a jolt, Rebver looks up with wide eyes. Highblood can’t help a smile.

“Ain’t that the reaction you’re suppos’ ta have to the voodoos, Reb?”

“Just wasn’t expectin an apology was all,” he replies as he stoops to grab the pad, eyes down while he keeps his head up, making sure his horns don’t ram down on the Highblood’s desk.

“I slip a sorry in there anywhere?” Highblood asks. Rebver goes still, body only halfway through the crouch. “Just playin with ya, motherfucker,” Highblood chuckles. “Gotta try and keep a smile on this sad excuse of a face somehow.”

Rebver stands slowly, eyes staying fixed on the Highblood. Good kid, not taking his eyes off of him. If he were in any more of a sour mood, and if Rebver were any lower, he might just lob off his head. Or at least, a few months back he would have. His temper has kept itself in check more often, at least the deadly side. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t sent some motherfuckers home with a missing limb or horn, but a lot more are going home with their lives, that’s for sure. 

“What should I do about the orders?”

Highblood taps his claws along his desk. His personal rooms are pretty soundproof, but that doesn’t mean the Condease ain’t listening.

“Let the others know there will be a command this evening. I’ll make sure they know we kill all that try and run, any that take a swing, and anyone who’s a problem. Go ahead and send the order down to the camp to start lobbing off the heads of anyone in solitary. Should start dropping moral and keep the headcount to a minimum.” Highblood looks down at the plans, dismissing the other indigo, though he feels him linger.

“What? I smudge my motherfuckin paint?”

Rebver hesitates, looks like he might leave, but instead comes closer.

“You feelin alright?”

It is not what Highblood expects, and his face must show it.

“Not meaning anything by it, just noticed your bloodlust is down. Ain’t nothin sadder than seeing a brother losing touch with the wicked mirth.”

 _‘Smart little motherfucker,’_ he thinks as he holds back a sigh.

“Could ask you the same. Who’s got you all pink an’ red?” 

A blush shoots over Rebver’s cheeks.

“Thought so. You been all red-eyed and dreamin. Fucking miracle if the object of your most righteous affections hasn’t noticed.”

Rebver’s blush dusts down his throat. “I…” he trails off before rubbing at the back of his head. “I didn’t up and think he’d paid that much attention.”

“Well, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t.” 

Rebver gives Highblood an odd, pointed look. What did that mean? He was just telling him what he’d noticed, and it...oh.

Highblood’s thorax tightens a little. “Aw, no motherfucker. Don’t up and tell me…” he trails off.

“Not my choice who the Messiahs get my pusher pumping for,” he murmurs.

“I’ve been around longer than the slurry you came from, grub, and you’re barely out of your last pupation.”

He snickers. “Yeah, because sweeps are the problem.” He sighs. “Listen, can a motherfucker speak his mind, as a troll to a troll, no hierarchy in this biz?”

“I think I can give ya that.”

Rebver gives a sheepish, but thankful smirk before his face falls into something contemplative. “I know this shit would never work. You’ve got too many vying for your quadrants in red and black as is, and I have no delusions in my pan that I’m even on that list.” 

Highblood feels a pang. The grubs right, he isn’t.

“But that don’t mean I don’t want to be _something_ to ya. I know I could never cast a shadow over your pale. She may have been a low teal, but she had one hell of a mind and a better sense of justice than most on this planet.”

“How’d you-”

“Just a rumor, but the more I thought on it, the more it made sense. She was a sympathizer, maybe not a reformer, but since she passed, you’ve been less about cracking skulls and more about chaining wrists. Figured it might have been for her.” Rebver slouches and rubs at the back of his neck. “Whatever the reason you have for being more mirthful to the lowbloods, I just want to be able to help with whatever turmoil is going on in your pan. No sense in holding it all on your own when you’ve got a motherfucker here who’s all up and ready to pity every word that spills out.”

Highblood finds himself staring. He can’t help it. Here’s a troll saying he’s red for him but willing to be pale just so he can be around him. Self-sacrificing bullshit is what it is, the destruction of the poor fuckers pan, but it makes Highblood pause. He hadn’t been around a motherfucker who he had felt comfortable to laugh around in a while; that worked alongside him without a flinch.

Maybe, after all the shit, maybe…

“Now's not the time for us to get our chat on about this, Rebver,” he says as he looks back at his map. “Too much shit going on to try and figure out a quadrant situation.”

Rebver straightens, slipping back into a soldier. “I understand, Highblood.” There is only a small waiver in his voice. “I’ll go alert the others to your orders.” He turns and quickly heads for the door.

“Rebver,” Highblood calls just before he pulls open the door. 

Rebver pauses and turns hesitantly towards him.

“Once all this shit is down and buried, we’ll get a feelings jam going about all this shit in your pan. Maybe pull out a pile.”

Highblood’s not sure he’s ever seen so much hope on one trolls visage before. It makes his pusher hurt, because fuck if it ain’t the palest and most pitiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Yes, Highblood.” Rebver leaves.

Highblood sits at the desk and sighs.

“Motherfucking insanity up in here,” he murmurs as he reaches for a roll of Solanum Negros. He needs to take the edge off, think a little. Messiahs know he’s had enough on his pan without adding all this into the mix.

He is just about to light the paper when he glances back down at the plans before.

“Damn.” He puts the joint down. “Gonna need a clear head for this.” 

Highblood leaves his rooms and heads out of his holy space. The further he goes, the more sterile and straight the rooms get; the trolls in the hall parting for him more out of fear than reverence. He pays them little mind as he goes toward the briefing room. He hates that name ‘briefing’. Nothing brief ever happens in that room, and even when it is, the shit it pertains to is too damn heavy. There is a microphone in there, though, and he’s going to need it. Trying to get a bunch of trolls who are on six different sleeping schedules into one room ain’t going to cut it, and if the Lead Bitch wants them ready to go as soon as she says, then he’s going to let those who are sleeping do so. Let the Messiah's take pity on their dreams and give them something mirthful. 

He seems to collect trolls as he walks. They fall into line behind him, becoming an ever-growing presence at his back. It drives him forward, even if it is the last thing he wants.

The briefing room is too damn sterile for his own liking; he much prefers the execution chamber. Hell, it’s where he’s more likely to be found. At least in there, they are reminded of their mission, what with the rainbow of their brethren painting the walls and his chair. He always takes down the strongest, and sometimes he even gives them the chance to fight back. He had wanted to do that for the Signless; that motherfucker would have been a rocket in his ring, but the Condesce had said no. There would be no fight for him, least, not a physical one. His scream still echoes in Highblood’s head sometimes. It was a sound of beauty, the rage in it ringing to the heavens. Some swore they heard it across the galaxy, all of them lowbloods of course. If any highblood heard his cry, then they weren’t saying shit. He doesn’t blame them. Hearing the voice of a lowblood traitor would be a damn good way of getting their head knocked in by his club. 

The metal benches of the briefing room look like a sorry excuse for pews. There is nothing religious about this place. This is one of _her_ spaces. The metal is outlined with her color, giving a tyrian glow to the flow and ceiling as the lights illuminate the room. The Messiahs do not reside here. If they did, then Highblood would have left the religion long ago.

A low set of stairs heads up to a platform, a mic waiting. Beneath it is a soundboard, which he hates, but there are plenty of technicians behind him. Tall, curled horns push through the crowd before he can even give a command, and Rebver comes forward. Highblood doesn't need to tell him what he needs, the wriggler already knows. He bends down before the console and starts to fiddle with knobs and wires. 

A tap of his finger and Highblood can hear it echo down the hall through hidden speakers. What little sound that echoed down the stone corridors of his holiest of spaces stop, making the world beyond the doors silent.

“Hello my brethren,” he says into the mic, and it is so very odd to hear his voice coming from the open door. Highblood glances at it, but it is Rebver who gives the sign to shut it. It is done so, dutifully. 

“As y’all motherfuckers are aware, we’ve been having some shit going down with the warmer of our blood. Fights been popping up along the coast, and we know where they’re going to hit next.” A whisper sweeps the crowd, trolls guessing at the next hit no doubt.

“See, our coldest of sisters has decided that she’s done with being merciful this time, and when these fuckers show up, she wants to paint the world warm.” He grips the small podium, and fuck does he hate it. It is nothing like the arms of his chair; warm leather cracked with the blood of only the most worthy. This is cold and brittle, like it would break if he got too deep into his sermon, and it is a good reminder that this is not his pulpit.

“Any and all are to be slaughtered under her order,” he says. “One toe out of line, one shot of fear, and we’re to kill them outright. That is her word.” Another murmur erupts.

“Yeah, I don’t much like it either.” Silence rings.

“We have orders, brothers and sisters,” he continues. “From the top of the spectrum herself, though they don’t quite jive with what the Messiahs be tellin us. So here is my middle ground. You see a lowblood out of line, yeah, you bloody ‘em up. If they’re fighting, then they’re looking to be judged under the big top, but if they don’t make a move then neither do you.” The metal beneath his hands creeks. “We got orders, we take ‘em, but only as far as we feel our ring leaders want us to. You feel bad about a kill, don’t make it. Not one of you will be touched; I can promise ya that. If she wants a head on a pike, I’ll take it. That’s my motherfucking offering here and now. She may be the one toting the whip down here, but I’m not about to ask any of my carnies to talk back against what they’ve been taught. We draw blood when blood rages to be drawn. We don’t draw it from those who ain’t up and ready to perform.”

A sound of approval moves through the crowd before them.

“So, to any of you sea-dwellers listenin in, go ahead and tell our Imperious Condescension that we will defend her ‘til her last breath, but we ain’t juggling no heads that don’t deserve to be juggled.”

A cheer rings through the room; singular at first, and then added onto by many.

“Paint your clubs with the holy rage of blood-lust, my brethren,” Highblood says with a grin. “Let the Messiahs do the sortin for the rest when their act is up.” He steps back from the podium, and Rebver appears, shutting off the mic.

“She isn’t going to be happy,” he murmurs just loud enough for Highblood to hear as the trolls in the pews before him fall into a chant; at least the subjugglators do. He sees a few finned fucks looking around uneasily. 

“Let her,” he replies. “She dares to come for us then we’ll know the Messiahs’ are ready for the sea to run tyrian and the earth to become the rainbow of rebirth.” 

Beneath the podium, Rebver squeezes his hand. 

Highblood won’t deny that he squeezes it back.

He hopes Rebver’s particular shade of blood won’t be up for judgment soon, but if they decide it is, then Highblood will make sure he is placed on the highest pike so that he is the first to meet their makers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing Highblood's speech in this and trying to flush out the Dark Carnival's religious points. While it is mostly headcanon, I hope you still enjoyed!
> 
> Feel free to come message me over on my Twitters!  
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	9. Batten Down the Hatches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins. As always, if you find any glaring issues, feel free to let me know!

_This may be my last set of written words, and if it is, well I hope they aren’t underwhelming. Last thing I want is to go out quietly with the tide. I will kick and scream and beat it back with only my hands if I have to, but I don’t know._

_My eight-fold sight told me I would die for a troll I have come to despise in such a way it can’t even be black, and if that is how it must happen, then I may just let it happen. I can only change so much, and while I hope I can still change this, I don’t think it is in the stars. My ship is heading for that specific shoreline no matter what. If I can do anything to buffer that arrival, I will, but something is telling me that I’ll be feeling a spear today._

_As long as Kurloz doesn’t get one as well, then I’ll be happy to go quietly with the tide beneath my back. I’ll rage against them all, but when death comes, I will walk hand and hand with it to the next shore. If it tries to bring my red with us, then we’ll see if those Messiahs are ready for me to teach them about mirth._

Mindfang looks down at the journal, pen poised, but nothing else comes out. 

“Teach them about mirth,” she grunts in mild disgust, “I’d better die after this. I ever re-read that I’ll off myself.” She closes the book and slides it into its compartment. The larger tome is then placed into the small chest that is filled to the top with stacks of journals. There is over fifty; she’s pretty sure. Two or so per sweep as far back as she can remember. There are others, lost to the world, half-filled with the chicken scratch of a wriggler. Mindfang hopes no one ever finds those; the embarrassment might be enough to make her retire. 

“Would have to be alive for that,” she mutters as she closes the chest with a solid thud. Around the ship, she can feel people’s thoughts like a constant electrical buzz. There are a few that she has had to spur, unbeknownst to them, of course, to get them to leave. 

Just around two thirds, as Moyrah had thought, hold no fear for this battle. They’ll follow her down into the depths, no matter what might be waiting there.

“Captain?” 

Mindfang looks up and finds Moyrah standing half inside the door. 

“You were right,” she says as she stands from the chest. “A third.”

“I would like to say ‘I told you so’, but to do that would feel hollow.”

“Yet the words already left your mouth.”

Moyrah gives the slightest curl of a smile, though there is little happiness in it.

“Are you ready?” Mindfang asks as she pulls the chest towards her. 

“I might need a little help getting that bulk on deck, but yes. I believe that those who are going have all gathered, unless you have more you want to try and ferret out.”

Mindfang shakes her head, the slightest of smiles on her lips. “No, I think I’ve done all the ferreting I can do.” She grabs one side of the chest as Moyrah grabs the other. “I really did pick one hell of a crew, didn’t I?”

 

“Probably one of the best,” Moyrah replies, though they don’t look at her. They lift the trunk and start forward, pulling Mindfang behind them. She studies them as they go; how straight Moyrah keeps their shoulders, the hair that somehow is never out of place; at least when awake. She has a few memories of pulling Moyrah from their bunk, bleary-eyed and pale, their hair flying every which way and stuck up in loops. The memory makes her smile softly.

“Part of it is your crew now,” Mindfang says as they climb the stairs to the second deck, heading for the dingy that will steer Moyrah and the others away from the fight.

“No,” Moyrah replies. “To these ones I’ll never quite be the captain.” They do not turn towards Mindfang as they speak. “I’ll always be the first mate.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Mindfang drawls.

“Not at all.” There is the slightest tremble in their words. “There is no troll on this world or any other that can command a ship like you, and I’m not talking about your power over the mind.” They keep walking, feet never faltering, even if their voice keeps trying. “When you leave, Captain, the world will never see your like again. Your ancestors will try, they will work, but they will never be the captain you were.”

“Maybe not,” she replies, and when had her voice gotten so damn tight? “But they’ll become a damn good pirate.”

Moyrah doesn’t respond at first. They just keep walking across the deck where the dingy waits. Sunrise sits on the horizon, and Mindfang can feel the other minds in the boat. They refuse to look back, most feigning sleep or getting lost in their own minds.

The laughter takes her by surprise. It starts as just a shudder of Moyrah’s shoulders, then their arm; slipping from their mouth and whispering back to Mindfang until it has grown so loud in volume and strength that her first mate drops the chest.

“Moyrah?” Mindfang steps to the side of the chest, taking hesitant steps.

“O-only you could b-be so self-assured.” Moyrah’s face is rusty with tears as they give one of the ugliest grins Mindfang has ever seen. “Of course they’ll be a g-good pirate. They couldn’t be anything b-but with your blood.” Their hitching laughter is breaking into something ugly. “They’ll never be satisfied, not un-until they surpass your legacy, or die trying.” Moyrah’s laugh is more sob as they rub at their face. “You and you d-damn blood wanting to die.”

“Who the hell said I want to—”

“The sight eightfold wasn’t always right, captain,” Moyrah suddenly cuts in, tears on their face but their hitching breath evens out. They grip her arm tight, pulling her close. “You’d see one thing and find it twisted on its head when it came. So if you don’t mean to die, then find a way to make it so that you don’t.” Mindfang is too stunned to stop Moyrah from pulling her close. An arm locks around her neck, and with little thought in it, she lets her arms lock around the rust-blood’s back.

“Don’t you dare die for him,” Moyrah hisses. “If you die, make it for something worthier than a shit-blood who would just as quickly burry us beneath his boot as the bitch beneath the sea.”

Mindfang’s good eye bites back tears. She can sense the others on deck, feeling them peering around doors and toward her. 

“I will,” she whispers and pushes the slightest of kisses to one of Moyrah’s horns; barely even turning her head.

“You damn well better.”

When Moyrah pulls back, their face is stoic again, and a few swipes of their sleeve remove most of the evidence that it had ever crumbled. Their eyes stay a little puffy, the yellow sclera tinged orange, but no one would say anything. They wouldn’t dare.

The chest seems heavier than before when they raise it again and carry it the short distance left to the dingy. Mindfang helps Moyrah lift it down onto the deck but makes no move to step down. 

“Take care of them,” she tells Moyrah as her first mate looks up at her. 

“Should be saying that to you.” There is no smile, just the slight turning up at the corners of Moyrah’s mouth. “Give them hell, captain.”

“And then some.”

Mindfang watches Moyrah nod before turning and heading to the inner stern of the dingy. 

She does not see Moyrah again. 

\-------

The base is caught in a dichotomy of feeling. There is the buzz of energy as Highblood’s trolls work to get the prisoners under control, in how they set up for the impending attack, but there is no substance to it. It stretches out around them, filling with static that currently has nowhere to go.

The second it snaps, though, the world will be chaos. Highblood can taste it on the back of his tongue; an aura of copper and ash.

Usually, this would set him into a moderate frenzy. Cleaning his clubs, readying his paint, but there is none of that. This is a battle he does not want to partake in, as sacrilegious as that is. But it is true. Something about this fight feels wrong. It is too one-sided, the power struggle too much. Yes, he knows he can crush his enemies and those of the Condesce, but there is a difference between bringing down warriors and slaughtering the scared. Ain’t nothing sacred in destroying innocence without reason. 

“They’ve seen the sails.”

Highblood fights the instinct to swing his club at the offending voice, but instead just turns his head. Rebver is standing just off to his side, a communicator over one ear. Revber holds his thin, jagged clubs in tight fists.

“How many?” Highblood asks. He could put his own communicator on and find out, but he’s never been one for those little things. He’ll leave that shit to his surprise second-hand. It’s crazy to think this pupa had been just a low rank such a short time ago. He’s shot up in rank since the battle between ships, and he sure as fuck deserves it.

“About a dozen,” he replies. “Can’t be sure how many are on each ship, though.”

“And on the ground?” He scans the horizon. There are trees all around; most having been planted long ago to create a natural barrier between the rolling hills. Already, he can see a swath of darkness coming towards them from the hills to the east. In the sky, he can see a cloud of creatures following.

“Summoner is pulling tricks with the wildlife,” Rebver responds. “Scouts can’t tell how many are riding in and how many are hiding behind. He’s controlling more than half of the local population in the area, though.”

“Course he is,” Highblood grunts. “Can barely get his own siblings to fight, so he makes the world do it for him. You think he gives those animals any choice in what they do?”

“Do we have one?” Rebver asks back.

Highblood is surprised as he looks over at him. He stands straight, as if he hadn’t just performed blasphemy against their ruler. Highblood cracks a smile.

“Nah,” he replies. “Guess not.” To the north, he sees the first lights of battle; flaming rockets that fire into the sea of dark bodies. Gaps open, cries reach him on the wind, and yet still it comes. “We’re all just a bunch of dumb animals to her, ain’t we?”

Rebver doesn’t respond, though Highblood didn’t expect him too. To the west, he hears the first projectile cannon, aiming sharp shrapnel into through those that fly and then down to the bodies below. 

The dark shape of battle becomes more jagged, easier to pick out trolls from animals in the moonlight, and then he sees trolls rush in from the trees.

So it begins.

Beasts swarm over their first line of defense, sending up distant roars of war as blood colors of indigo through cerulean fall in line. There is a crashing and cracking of wood as giant bovine beasts smash their way through the trees; creating paths for those behind. He hears the beasts scream in pain as they crush their skulls, trying to make room for those behind; none of them have a choice. As the animals get closer, from the precipice of the prison, Highblood can see the horns that let him know that Summoner is using the local livestock against them and not just those from the wilds. Bastard. With the amount they’re about to slaughter, a lot of trolls, both low and high, are about to go hungry. There is no saving meat that has been soiled with earth, splinters, and the blood of his men.

“They have started the assault from the bay,” Rebver says, the tip of a club gently pressed to his ear as chatter filters to him. His carnival smile, though painted with precision, pulls down into a grimace as he frowns. “The sea dwellers are...asleep?”

“What?” Highblood looks at him in confusion.

“Mindfang is putting them all to sleep,” Rebver replies. “The lowbloods have already taken the lower landings.”

“How many they kill?”

“I…” Rebver listens. “I don’t think they’re actually killin.”

“Well ain’t that interesting,” Highblood says with a smile. So his little spider isn’t looking for bloodshed either. Hell, he didn’t realize she could put so many under so quick. She must be pushing herself, pushing hard. He hopes she saves some of that mind for later.

“What are your orders?” Rebver looks up at him. Above them, the beasts of the air are starting to swarm.

“Spread some fear, my brother,” he says as he clasps his shoulder with a large hand. “Let’s see if we can’t get some running before the real bloodshed begins.”

Rebver nods and speaks into the small item on his wrist. Highblood goes to pull a Solanum Negros from his breast pocket, but stops. Not fair to take the edge off when his red can't. Shoving the flower is back down, he strides towards the front lines.

“Let's see if we can’t use our voodoos on some of these beasts,” he murmurs before he lets loose. He can feel the voodoos sing away from him; cackling and dancing through the pans of trolls and skitting over the minds of animals. He keeps it on a lower wavelength, going for brain waves that are warm to the touch. The closest animals, those in the air, seem to snap from whatever is holding them and try and dash away. He watches a good chunk make it, but more jerk and spin, coming back. The brown-blooded bastard is not letting them leave.

Screams rise up from the legion scrambling over the walls as his brethren who have been given the divine gift use it as well. He sees a psionic, mid blast, stutter with their light show before a club finds their skull. They try and blaze back, but his brethren don’t allow it; a clean death, a good fight. He hopes the Messiahs give him a smile for his courage.

Highblood wades through the fight; some of the warm try and come for him. There are so many to spread his voodoos amongst, and while his siblings do the same, there are few who come close to his level. They boost the chill and paranoia he fills the warm-blooded with, sending the weaker-minded running and the brazen blazing with rage.

His club tastes only those ready to go to the big top. Those who twist from his presence he lets leave. They aren’t good kills; so many here aren’t. He watches a harpoon hit a retreating brown blood in the back and frowns. Ain’t nothing mirthful in a death like that. A sea dweller runs to the kill and rips it out before going to reload their gun. A troll comes for them, daggers up and ready for flesh; they find the sea dwellers shoulder and cut. 

Highblood strides forward, club ready. When he swings at the troll attacking the seadweller, his club finds two skulls instead of one, painting it ocher and pale violet. If anyone sees, they do not comment.

What’s a little friendly fighting when the world is chaos?

Behind him, in the bay, he hears canons sing. Who’s they are, he can’t tell. 

_“Stay safe my Dreamweaver,”_ he thinks to himself. His club cleaves a bovine skull in two; preparing for when it finds the red tri-hawk it aches to paint brown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to describe topography sucks. Hopefully, everything here made sense!


	10. The Bitter End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins.

Controlling so many minds at once is a strain; not that she’s keeping a hold on any for long. Mindfang reaches out as she walks, mind seeking others with tendrils of thought. The second she finds someone thinking of protecting the Condease, or the prison, she winks them out. It is harder with the seadwellers, her abilities weaker against those higher above, though she can still manage them. It’s in her strength of mind and will, and she makes those gaudy purple bastards fall before her.

“Round up the bargaining chips,” she yells to those who follow her. “Only the finned fucks, and none with paint! Don’t want voodoos on board!” It’s a thin excuse to try and lessen the bloodshed, but her crew is taking it to heart at least. The less dead, the more they can trade with, and the seadwellers that had been stationed to stop them are falling like flies as she walks through. Her cutlass tastes the blood of some, those higher on the spectrum that charge at her in a blind rage —most likely due to less experienced Voodoo users— and fall beneath her blade and bionic arm.

She keeps a sharp lookout for Highblood, but so far she has seen no sign of his bulk. 

_’Most likely sticking to the trees,’_ she thinks to herself, which is a relief. They had talked about what would happen if they met up on the battlefield, that there would be no choice but to have at it with all they had. If they didn’t, the questions would begin, and whoever survived would be put in a sorry predicament. 

Mindfang’s fine sticking to the shore. Here, she can do plenty of damage. At least she can give the other boats in the bay a chance; taking out the cannon operators as they aim for the sails and hulls alike. They are doing their best to cripple the boats, no matter who they belong to. Mindfang has seen the masts of at least two highblood ships collapse under friendly fire when swarmed by lowbloods.

“Don’t need fins to float,” she murmurs as she watches another highblood ship fall, this time to her trolls. Her lowblooded crew can run any ship like a dream; better than any seadweller bunch. Why would they care about a boat when they have gills? Just another reason to have sent off half of her crew; to lose that much skill and knowledge of the sea, of genuine understanding and not a need to dominate, would have been such a waste.

Mindfang hopes she’ll get to see the flags they fly someday. 

She knows that’s not going to happen when she turns the corner.

Self-fulfilling prophecies are assholes. They don’t come into being with a large trumpeted announcement, or even a grand wave. Self-fulfilling prophecies are a shiver up the spine, a twinkle on the horizon, and the moment they are felt they are inescapable.

The second Mindfang sees the small patch of wispy, dry seagrass she’s knows where she is. The color, the sandy soil, it is all too familiar; she knows what those grains of micah will taste like on her tongue as she feels a lance through her chest.

 _”Well fuck.”_ The second the thought is through her pan it flickers her control. Those falling to her feet stumble instead of sleep, eyes bleary and unfocused. For some, it is enough. For one, it is nothing.

The seadweller hefts her weapon, and with a cry, throws it. The harpoon hits Mindfang in the side, the pain brings her back to the present, and her future guides her toward the grass.

She attempts to stumble away from it, because if she can, then maybe this won’t be the end of it. The harpoon won’t rip back out of her, the wound won’t be stemmed by the thick grass and sand, and she can bleed out in peace; take a few fuckers down with her, and be dead before the Summoner arrives to finish her off.

But her feet move without her, trying for balance where there is none. The harpoon is ripped back from her with a cry of triumph that she kills off with a pulse from her mind. She does not discriminate, knocking out friend and foe as she tries to gain a few moments she knows she doesn’t have. 

She reaches out with her mind on impulse, searching for a specific presence, for Highblood. Mindfang cuts it off quick because that is not how this goes. She does that, and he’s dead. If she is found, he’s dead. If Summoner saves her, he’s—

 _”I’m not dying for Summoner.”_ The realization hits her hard. Away on the field, she hears a roar that can only be one person.

 _”He’s coming for me,”_ she thinks. On the horizon, she sees Summoner as he flies to her beneath the moon; around her, the world is colored in a rainbow of blood. _”I can’t let them get me. They’ll kill him if they do.”_ She watches as Summoner gets closer, his mind a terrifying spiral of confusion as she stares up at him. But she knows now just who the ‘him’ is, and it’s not Summoner. If they catch her, if she tells them, Highblood is as good as dead. 

“Kill me,” she begs verbally. _” They’ll kill him if you don’t.”_

She slips to her knees and closes her eyes. She knows this, has seen this, and waits. Summoner's pleas not make him do it is a blur in her brain. Yet she holds fast, even in her weak state. _”I’ll keep him safe.”_

 _”Kill me.”_ She pushes the thought at him as she finds her way to her final resting place. It lays before her like an old, estranged spade lover. She knows the taste of it, the feel, the smell as she falls into the patch, and she hates it. Rage sings through her blood as she pushes a hand into the sand and no, _no_ , she is following the little song and dance of destiny to a T.

“Damn it,” she croaks as she tries to get up, and there is the micah on her tongue, sharp and salty.

“NO!” The word is bellowed from the skies, louder than any canon, but only for her. She knows to listen for it, and even with the sea-winds pulling at the words, they are clear; as clear as this damned dream has been for the last few sweeps.

This whole time she knew she was dying for her red, to save him, so he can live. It was all the vision gave her and all she ever noted. The laughter comes as it always has, bubbling up through her lips as she rolls over, eyes watching the sun disappear behind brown wings.

“No, no no no,” Summoner snarls as he lands, hands reaching for her and pushing into the blue of her gaping wound. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, y-you--”

“Stop that,” she coughs, eyes turning to him. Slick, cool blood bubbles up her throat. “You have a job to finish.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, we’re getting you out of here. _I’m_ getting you out of here. I’ll fly you—”

“Where?” She feels so light, so _right_. “No one will take me.” This part has always been silent in her head, but now she gets to spin the words herself, and she will make them hurt. Make him _think_. “All the lowbloods want me beneath their boots.”

“No,” Summoner snarls. “No, they don’t. You’re on our side, with _us_.”

“There is no us,” she coughs. “There can't be an _us_ when you try and split everyone apart.”

Summoner blinks down at her through his tears in surprise.

“Kill me,” she sighs, and some of the sound comes from holes in her shredded lung.

“Why would you ask me to do that?” He pushes harder into the wound.

“Because we both know—” she takes in a wheezing breath, “That I’ll bleed out before you get me anywhere, and if they get their hands on me before that, then my Red, we’re quite simply—” a wheezing laugh, “Fucked.”

Summoner is shaking his head, muddy tears streaming down his face, and it is _right_. Mindfang savors the pain she sees there because this, this is what will get through to him; she hopes and begs to whatever may be listening it does.

“I’m getting you out of here, we just--”

“They’re waking up.” Talking is getting harder. 

“NO! No, I can--”

“Kill. Me.” Catching his mind with her own is effortless in his crazed state. Mindfang feels his connection to the beasts sever, and she lets it. This isn’t their war.

_”Kill. Me.”_

The thought is loud and clear, and even under her control, he sobs as he pulls out his lance. 

_‘Don’t make me do this,’_ he pleads with her. _‘I can’t do this.’_

 _”Yet you’ve forced countless to do it themselves.”_

It makes him sob, and she hushes it with a calm over his mind.

_”Kill me. Kill me or your revolution dies.”_

He raises the lance, and Mindfang feels the fear of death surge through her. For a moment, she thinks to stop him, to halt it, but she pushes with her will in his hands. 

The lance comes down, and she has no chance to scream. It takes the last of the air from her.

Her consciousness fades to silence.

Highblood’s consciousness is nothing but screams.

His voice carries before him like thunder as he roars down the side of the hill, barreling through any in his path as he heads for the winged motherfucker standing over his heart; the heart Summoner has stabbed. He’d felt her, just a few moments ago, and then it was gone. Then the report had come: Mindfang has fallen.

He doesn’t want to believe it, but he can’t deny it; not when his eyes are glued to the body with a lance in its chest — the winged bastard hunching over her.

“There you are!” 

Summoner looks up at him, his gaze dazed before he reaches for his lance. Highblood hurls his club. No, he’s not getting that back. It is staying right where it motherfucking is.

The winged mutation barely gets out of the way, the spikes skimming one wing and making his cry out.

“Claw to claw, motherfucker. You and me.”

Summoner snarls up at him, hand going to his side, and the sword is pathetic. A rapier of some sort, though it isn’t going to do shit to him. Oh, it might poke a few holes in him, but that’s about it.

“A toothpick? That’s what you pull on me?” Highblood laughs as he comes close, eyes darting to Mindfang and then Summoner. 

The lance is still in place.

“Come on, see if you can even slip it between these fangs. Don’t even need my hands to snap that.” 

Summoner snarls at him. “That’s what’s wrong with you bastards, you fucking concei--”

“Always figured you be a talker.” He launches. There is no time to swap words, at least not like Highblood wants. A small price to pay if he can pull this off. 

Summoner tries to take off, but Highblood gets his ankle. He pulls him down, spins, and sends him toward a waking seadweller. The brown and orange wings flare, catching Summoner and changing his direction, sending him past the prick of the seadwellers spear. 

“I’m going to enjoy snapping those,” he growls as he stalks after him. Highblood swipes up his club as he goes, sending a shower of sandy soil and grass at the fucker in his sights. Summoner stumbles to his feet, rapier out, ready to fight —Highblood swings. A gust of wind buffets him, and he feels a sharp sting in his arm as the rapier stabs in. The point is almost clear of Highblood's flesh when Highblood grabs it in his palm.

“Gonna snap ‘em just like this.” He gives a hard turn of his hand, feels the blade cut in, but the metal has no way to spring back as he curves the point down. The thin rod of iron breaks beneath his fist.

“Shitty weapon for a shit-blood. Poetic.” Highblood swings. The club whistles through the air, barely scratching over Summoner’s belly as Summoner pushes off the ground with a hash pump of his wins. A few more harsh flaps take him out of HIghblood’s reach.

“What’s wrong!?” Highblood screams. “You gonna turn tail like those beasts of yours?” 

Hot brown drips onto his face as he grins upward. Highblood blinks it away to see Summoner’s hands are tight over his belly. Damn, too shallow.

He flutters, drops a foot or so, and Highblood swings. Summoner’s foot makes a sickening crack as it meets the bat, and if not for him being able to swing in the air, Highblood’s pretty sure he could have cleaved it off. Instead, it hangs on by the meat of his leg, the actual bone probably nothing more than shards. 

“Come on down here and play, my winged brother,” he snarls. “Let me send ya to the Messiahs. Bet they have a freak show all set up for a shit-stain like you.”

Summoner hovers, eyes darting between Highblood and the body on the battlefield; the one that isn’t waking up.

“Go on and get her,” he snarls. “Let me end you along with that blue bitch.” 

He hates to say it, because damn if he doesn’t want to play with this bastard, but he either needs to end this flying fuck now or he needs him to leave. One-or-the-other, and he doesn’t care which one the Messiahs pick for him. 

Summoner reaches for something on his waist, and Highblood snarls. What’s he got now?

The gun is a surprise, it shouldn’t be, but it is. It aims at him for just a moment, and for a second, that’s alright. Let it strike him between the eyes; let him go floating off to the carnival with his red.

It aims at the sky. A blazing red flare shoots well into the clouds.

A signal of retreat.

“Coward!” he roars after him as he takes off, even his flight pattern wobbling as he heads out to sea where his boats are waiting; out where she should be.

Highblood watches him until he is well over the water, then he moves.

He rushes for Mindfang, hands flying to her chest and throat. It takes him a moment to find anything under his own racing pulse, but there is something there. 

“Is she?”

“Dead!” he roars triumphantly. 

Around him, there is a mixture of cries as lowbloods cry out and the seadwellers cheer. This is where things get tricky.

“A new trophy,” he says with a grin to the closest seadweller. He lifts her then, lance and all, and he makes sure it doesn’t move; at least as much as he can.

“Get the wounded to the menders and round up the rabble,” he yells as he heads towards the prison.

“We really got her?” Rebver asks with a grin painted warm as he walks passed him.

“Bring me the lowblood quacks,” he says as he walks past.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he snarls.

Rebver blinks in surprise but nods.

“Hold on,” he murmurs down at her, no longer sure if he’s holding a body or a corpse. “Just keep holding on. Don’t you go playing ring-leader without me.”

He listens for a single sound in his head; there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One left. I hope you've all enjoyed so far!


	11. Red Sky at Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's crazy that this story is finally done. I worked on this for so long, and am so excited to post the final chapter. Thank you again to the one who requested this story and has been so patient these past couple years. It's been a pleasure working on this story and building out the world.

The sensation of floating isn’t strange; if anything, it is welcome. It feels like being nothing; a wave bound to its brethren.

Mindfang’s lips twitch into a smile.

_”Been around that highblood too long,”_ she thinks.

She breathes in deeply, feels something thick around her expand, and then collapse around her as she sighs.

“Get Highblood,” a voice hisses.

“You trying to order me—”

“Yes, now get going, or he’ll club us both,” the troll says. 

There is a grumble of annoyance before Mindfang hears a door shut. 

She opens her eyes to find gold ones staring down at her.

“I can’t believe it,” the troll above her whispers. Their horns are shaved down to stumps, a sign of a slave made to work in the mines; it's the easiest way to keep their horns from getting caught in the tunnels. Mindfang’s chest tightens, and the first trickles of pain settle in.

“Where am I?” Mindfang goes to sit up, but firm, calloused hands push her back down. 

“Don’t go doing that just yet,” the troll tells her, his voice raspy. “The last thing I need is you pulling out those sutures and getting my head bashed in.”

“Sutures?”

“You’ve got some rememberin’ to do,” the troll says with a sharp nod.

Mindfang hears the door thud open.

“She’s awake?” Oh and isn’t that voice just the balm she needs for her nerves.

“She is,” Mindfang calls back, though it makes her cough.

“Hush, low tones,” the troll above her murmurs. “Your lung isn’t fully healed yet.”

A much larger head appears next to the yellow-blood’s, and Mindfang grins up at the paintless face. 

“Did I wake you?” she asks him with a chuckle. It brings more pain, but it seems detached.

Highblood’s hand dips down and cups her face, fingers making slurping sounds in her ear as they press into thick slime.

“Gabrix, the Messiahs themselves will kiss you for this,” Highblood murmurs.

“I would be blessed if they did,” Gabrix replies, and Mindfang sees genuine glee on their features.

“We gonna give him some paint too?” Another face appears, and it is in full carnival paint, the troll having tight-corkscrew horns coming from his skull.

“Rebver,” she says with a grin. 

Rebver startles and looks down at her. “He talks a looooooot about you,” she stage whispers with a wink to Highblood. 

“Just how drugged is she?” Highblood asks.

“Enough that even you’d feel it,” Gabrix grunts as he pulls back and disappears. “Won’t be changing any time soon either.” 

“And why’s that?” Highblood asks.

“Cuz if she moves more than a foot, I’m betting what’s left of my horns she’ll reopen every stitch in her.”

“But it’s been more than a pareegial span! Shouldn’t—”

“She was harpooned and then _stabbed_. Unless you can get me micro-knitting, she’s going to have to do the healing the old fashioned way, though this medical-grade sopor is helping quite a bit.” Gabrix appears again, a vial of something in his hand. “Open up. Let’s see how you do without the tube.”

“Tube?”

“Feeding tube, removed it when you first stirred,” Gabrix replies. “Now say aaaaaah.”

“Ahhhhhh.” She grins around the drawn-out syllable, and it doesn’t dissipate when cool, sweet water trickles into her mouth. It is just enough to fill her maw, and though she swallows gratefully, it makes her cough something awful. Her throat feels like she tried to swallow Highblood’s bulge. That makes her giggle. 

“This is the famed pirate Mindfang?” Rebver scoffs. 

“Watch yourself, grub; she could probably still send you off the deep end, even like this.”

“Yeah, right,” he grumbles as he looks down at her.

She sizes him up, eyes flicking over his face. Maybe should could make him pinch himself, or bang his knee, or—

“Rebver, would you mind helping me?” Gabrix asks.

“The hell would I want--”

“Your about ten seconds away from getting punched, that’s why,” Gabrix replies. 

That makes Mindfang laugh. Oh, she likes this one, and Gabrix must realize because he grins down at her.

“A yellow with some spark, I like it,” she giggles at him.

“Hard to be scared of them once you see them bleed like everyone else,” he tells her with a wink.

“Why you piss-blooded,” Rebver starts, though Highblood cuts him off with an outstretched palm.

“The ‘piss-blood’ is right. Don’t send me black for ya, kid.”

“You won’t walk right for a week if you do,” Mindfang adds in.

Rebver turns a muddy purple around the ears before quickly stepping away with Gabrix.

“You dirty little spider-bitch,” Highblood murmurs as he grins down at her.

“Like you didn’t already know. Now get down here and kiss me.”

He moves without any hesitation, mouth cool and refreshing as the water had been. She tries to slip him tongue, and he pulls back with a laugh.

“Think you need a little more time in there before we try any of that.”

“You telling me what to do?” she asks slyly before sending out the compulsion of, _’Kiss me.’_

Highblood moves to do so. Mindfang finds herself frozen.

“Dreamweaver?” he asks gently.

She can’t respond. Her memory is stirring around two new syllables. What had they been? What had—

_’Kill. Me.’_ The words bring memories.

“Dead,” she croaks. 

“What?”

“I-I should be dead.” The high, strained laugh hurts her throat.

Somewhere, she hears a machine kick on.

“Gabrix,” Highblood calls. The machine gets louder. “GABRIX!”

“Damn it,” she hears, but it, like the pain, is detached. Dead, she should be said, she saw it and felt it. The lance in her chest, through her chest, through--

_"The hole. He put it through the harpoon hole."_

“Damn it; I thought we were passed this,” Gabrix snarls above her.

“What?”

“Shock,” he replies. She can hear him moving, and the machine is doing something odd. “All right, time to go back to sleep,” he tells her.

“What!? But she just woke up!” Highblood barks.

“She’s not mentally ready to deal with this,” Gabrix replies. 

“If you put her back under, I will--”

“Thank me. She can’t be awake like this. With the pain medication, her pusher could seize, and then I won’t be able to do shit.”

Something cool slips into her from her elbow, and she turns her head just enough to see a line of something. 

“Kurlozzzz,” she slurs.

“Shhh, I’m here. I’ll be here when you get up, okay?” His hands find hers in the slime. “I’ll be here.”

Mindfang doesn’t get a chance to reply before the drugs take her back under.  
——

Waking the second time isn’t as arduous as the first. It’s also a lot more painful.

“Motherfucker,” she slurs as sleep slips from her. 

“You really have been around me too much.”

Mindfang opens her eyes, blinking in the dim light of the room. She is still floating in slime, is more aware of the needle in her arm, but she is almost entirely present this time; memories and all, though she does her best to shut them out. The waking world is armed with clubs, and they are bludgeoning her towards shock. This time, she pushes them back. 

“I should be dead,” she says flatly, accepting reality before it has a chance to fight her. It doesn’t mean that its parting blow doesn’t sting.

“You’d think,” Highblood hums as he leans over the side. He’s streaked with paint this time, the white looking like he had half-heartedly tried to remove it.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice is rough with disuse. Above her, Highblood frowns. She closes her eyes against the image. Even with the room half dark, seeing him is almost too much. Beneath the white, she can see the bruising around his eyes; how tired he looks.

“A massacre,” he responds. 

“Because of me?” She does her best to keep the thickness from her throat.

“No,” he assures as he reaches in and grabs one of her hands. “Summoner ran; ran and dispersed his entire beast army. Left his brethren in chaos, without help, and that is when it happened. They fought, though. The Messiah’s are probably letting a few sit at their table this night from how they battled. Too many relied on the beasts, though. If he hadn’t run like a grub, well…” Highblood squeezes her hand. “You all might have damn well taken the prison.”

“Sweet talker,” she mutters, doing her best to smile despite the ache in her chest.

“Truth talker,” he assures as he shifts forward. 

“How many dead?”

He frowns, looks away. “Too many.”

They sit in silence, the dark around them heavy with ghosts. They have no names, no faces, but they paint the shadows with translucent rainbows.

“Everyone thinks I’m dead, don’t they.”

He squeezes her hand. “Only way I could keep you safe.”

“And them?” She carves her eyes through the rainbow obsidian of the night to the sliver of window she can find.

“They’ll keep fighting to survive.”

“And us?”

Highblood smiles down at her, “We save as many as we can.”

Beneath the growing scar tissue on her chest, Mindfang’s blood-pushes swells red.

\-----

_Got everything ready to go. Ship's set for take-off, the crew’s been brought on, and I’ve gotten as many sympathizers as possible. Been dangerous as shit, but worth it for her. Heading to a far off galaxy with a water-based planet. The whole damn world revolves around sailing, and while we conquered it, they don’t give a damn about blood color. One of the laxest in the fleet when it comes to the spectrum, I’ve heard. Better fucking be. Bout time Gabrix went somewhere, he can work his miracles without his horns or blood being a damn factor._

_Better than any other quack I’ve ever seen. Brought her back eight times before it stuck. She’s even walking now; 'nother Equinox, and she’ll be good to go and we can get out of here._

_Rebver is going with us too. Not like I can leave my pale behind. Just wish we could do the same for Aranea’s. It’s too dangerous to find Moyrah, though, and I know it kills her to do it, but we’ll have to leave the rust-blood behind. Damn shame, always wanted to meet them. Still, we’re saving a good chunk from the camps. Anyone with flight experience, traitor or not. Saying I’m going to make an example out of 'em on the next planet. We’re never reaching the one we’re setting course for. Gonna eject the motherfucking tracer, anyone still loyal to the tyrian bitch, and let our little yellow-blood battery shoot us through the stars. Made sure to sneak a second one on too, let them split it, so they both make it._

_It’s soft of me, I guess, but I think those under the big-top would approve. All the ones coming have shown their stuff. Scarred to hell-n-back in the pan and the body; fighters, each and every one of ‘em with a kill or two in their belt. Good kills, mirthful ones._

_We’ll be a damn fine crew, and one to be reckoned with if anyone tries to stop us._

Highblood closes the book with a smirk. 

“Hmmm, get in here already,” he hears behind him. Turning, he finds Mindfang partially splayed over the side of the recuperacoon, good eye bleary. 

“The fuck did Gabrix say about stretching your side like that?” he asks as he gets up. 

“Shove it up your nook,” she grumbles, though she does move back into a position that won’t pull at her stitches. The staples are gone, replaced by thread, but the scar tissue is still tender.

“Oh, gladly, but I don’t think Gabrix would be happy with either of us if I did.” He winks as he climbs in next to her. She bats at him a little before settling in close. His recuperacoon is big, easily letting them both settle in with plenty of slime around; thick enough that she won’t fully sink even if she isn’t touching the bottom.

“Talked to Rebver today,” she grumbles.

“Yeah? And what did the grub have to say?”

“Asked if I thought Gabrix could take a hit.”

Highblood snorts. 

“I thought I was his pale.”

“You are, but you probably would have gone and punched Gabrix just to check,” Mindfang replies as she settles against his chest. He gingerly pets over her scarred side. He can feel the stitches beneath the sopor; a spiderweb he is well acquainted with now.

“Hmmmm, probably.” He yawns.

She laughs, and it is a miraculous sound, even if it still carries an airiness to it. They settle into the quiet, the creaking of the old highblood barracks creaking around them.

“Knock knock,” she murmurs.

“Who’s there, motherfucker?” he asks with a smile.

“All for,” she murmurs.

“All for who?”

“All for you.” Her kiss is gentle on his shoulder.

He laughs, deep and quiet.

“How was that?”

“Better.”

“Just better?”

“Better and better,” he murmurs as he looks through lidded eyes out toward the stars of the dark season.

“Wish I could say the same about your sailing.” 

Highblood laughs, the tone full and deep, and it mixes with Mindfang’s lighter chuckle into the most mirthful of melodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Sky at Night, Sailor's Delight.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
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